


The One With Stiles & Derek

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Friends, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 52,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2186532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For what it’s worth," Stiles manages after a long minute of staring into Derek’s eyes like the newly married idiots that they are. "I’m glad we’re friends now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With The Cuffs

**Author's Note:**

> as requested, all of the FRIENDS ficlets from Kara's [meme](http://heroderekhale.tumblr.com/post/90501425457/writing-meme-friends-episode-titles-edition)

"You  _cannot_  leave me here,” Stiles hisses.

"I’ll be ten minutes, tops," Derek promises, sliding on his deputy jacket and grinning roguishly. "I’ll make it worth your while."

"No, Derek!" Stiles gestures to the door, still closed, thank god, but with the rest of the damn police department milling around outside. "Someone might come in!"

"Someone might have come in half an hour ago when you were blowing me on my desk," Derek smirks, "Didn’t stop you then."

"I wasn’t half naked from the waist down!"

"I was."

"Hey! It should be a requirement, by law, that people get to see you naked as often as possible, okay? I’d have been doing them a favor."

"Your father included?"

"Don’t bring him into this when I’m still—" Stiles gestures to his crotch, "This is so unfair! You can’t do this to me."

"You were the one too distracted to notice me put them on. You should know better," Derek gives him a feigned disappointed look. "Not too great for the newest Beacon Hills deputy to be unaware of his surroundings."

"Kind of hard to notice when you were biting on my neck, dude."

"So, think about that," Derek smiles innocently, "While I’m gone."

"No! You finish what you started now! Go after."

"Stiles, I have a responsibility."

"Oh, so now you’re an upstanding officer of the law? But, you were totally okay with talking about screwing me over the desk twenty seconds ago."

Derek flushes as he readjusts his badge, and Stiles tries not to melt at the look of pride on his face. Five years later, and Derek still looks sort of quietly awed every time he puts the badge on, every time Stiles’ dad claps him on the shoulder and thanks him for his help on a case. Stiles actually  _sees_  him straighten up as they get closer to work in the car in the morning. His reaction to Stiles calling him officer in bed is also super awesome. They may, or may not have maybe screwed around in the car once or twice. Stiles had his reasons. He remembers the first time they really made eye contact. He needed it for his sixteen year self. If he had a time machine, he would so use it to go back and tell that kid that things were gonna be okay. That they’d get better, they’d survive, that he’d be boning the hot terrifying guy glaring at him and winding him up about Scott’s control ten years later. And, that that dude is so fucking cute when he’s sleepy, he likes it when Stiles drags his fingers gently thought his hair when they’re watching crap tv, and that he likes his coffee with a pound of sugar and he’s more vulnerable than Stiles would believe. 

That Stiles is going to fall head over heels in love with him and never regret it. 

Except for _right now_. 

Derek is striding over and checking the cuffs, reeking of fucking smugness. 

"Fucker," Stiles mutters. "You’re totally getting off on the idea of leaving me here in your damn nest, like a— a— sex hostage!"

"A willing participant," Derek corrects, "And, this isn’t my nest, that’s home."

Stiles’ knees go stupidly weak, “I hate you!”

Derek leans forward and kisses him softly. Stiles tries to resist, for all of a millisecond, and then melts into it, clutches Derek’s collar with his free hand. The kiss turns dirty, Derek pushing him back up against the desk and pressing his thigh between Stiles’ splayed legs. 

"Stay," Stiles pants out, "Just five minutes,  _officer_.”

Derek lets out a harsh breath, pulls away, “Can’t, I’m on shift, this is your fault! You can think about the consequences of your actions while you wait for me.”

"Maybe I’ll just jerk off all over your desk."

Derek flushes, bites his lip as he drags his gaze from Stiles’ bare legs to his face, “I probably wouldn’t mind that nearly as much as you think I would.”

"You’re so weird," Stiles sighs fondly, tugs Derek close and before he can be stopped, bites down on the side of Derek’s neck, sucks hard. 

Derek whines, pulls away, “Stiles! Everyone’s going to see that!”

"Yeah," Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at him, "Serves you right."

"I’ll be right back," Derek mutters, heading for the door. 

"Hey—" Stiles calls out suddenly, and Derek turns, hand on the door, "Don’t— like get shot or anything, okay? That would— suck."

Derek’s eyes soften, “I’ll be fine, it’s just a regular call out, and besides, it wouldn’t do any damage.”

"Yeah, but it’d put a dent in the whole,  _fucking me over your desk_  thing when you get back.”

Derek’s hand twists the metal of the door handle, and he grunts, clearly frustrated he can’t stay, before vanishing without a backwards glance. 

Stiles watches him go, beaming. 

He totally won that round.

Of course, twenty minutes later, his father walks in, eyes on some papers, looks up and sees Stiles. 

"Heyyyyyy, dad."

The Sheriff sighs, “You promised last time was the last time, Stiles. This is getting ridiculous! You live together, keep it at home!”

"It was Derek’s fault!"

"It’s  _never_  Derek’s fault,” his father harrumphs, marching back out into the corridor, leaving the door wide open. 

"Dad!  **Dad!**  Oh, hey, Deputy Saldana,” Stiles flushes as the deputy looks in on him smirking. “Nice day.”

"Mhm," she grins at him, "Enjoying your day off?"

"I  _was_ ,” Stiles mutters darkly. 

Derek better get back soon and make this up to him. Asshole. Stiles really should have thought of this first.

 


	2. The One With All The Resolutions

Stiles bashes on the door of the bathroom, trying not to laugh. 

Derek can hear him both through the wood, and down the damn phone.

He snaps the phone shut, swings the door open, “Asshole.”

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes out, "It’s true."

"Shut the fuck up and help me."

"There is a god," Stiles murmurs, eyes glued to Derek’s thighs, pasted with talcum powder. They drift down to where the cursed leather pants are stuck, and then back up to Derek’s face. 

"Oh,  _Derek_.”

"I thought it would be a— I just—" Derek stares at the ceiling, "I wanted to surprise you."

"With leather pants?!"

"You never shut up about the leather jackets."

"Because they make you  _strut_  like nothing else,” Stiles kisses his fingers and waves them in the air, “Plus, they always stop just before your ass and—”

"Stiles," Derek interrupts, "Not that I don’t appreciate you…"

"Being warm for your form."

"Sure," Derek sighs, " _That_ , but, my calves feel like they’re on fire.”

"Okay, okay, chill your beans, boo," Stiles kneels in front of him, and Derek makes a noise of torn frustration and approval. 

"Stiles, now is not the—"

"Dude, I’m looking at the problem! Although," Stiles tips his head to one side, grins at Derek’s briefs, " _That’s_  never a problem to me.”

Derek glares down at him flatly, “Do I need to call Scott?”

"I would pay money to hear you explain to Scott why you need him to come over and help you out of mangled leather pants. That you bought to spice up our sex life."

"I didn’t buy them for that, idiot. Our sex life is in no need of help."

"Tell me about it," Stiles crows, waves a hand in Derek’s face, "Up top."

Derek ignores him for a moment and then clenches his jaw, slaps his palm. 

"Fucking yeah," Stiles murmurs, before reconsidering the pants. "So, are you stuck?"

"No," Derek drawls sarcastically, "I just thought I’d stand in the bathroom like this for fun."

"Well, at least you know the word exists these days," Stiles teases. 

Derek moves to turn away, catches his foot in the leather, and flails backwards. Stiles leaps up, catching him and bursting into laughter right in Derek’s ear. 

"Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Derek, this… you really light up my life, you know."

"Glad to be of service," Derek grits out. "Can you please go get me some fucking scissors?"

"Right! Yes, genius idea, babe, just like the leather pants."

"Stiles, I swear to god—"

"I’m going, I’m going!"

Stiles brings back scissors, and a dishtowel filled with ice. Derek sighs with relief as he leans back against the bath and places it across his thighs.

"Ready?" Stiles waves the scissors in the air, "Trusting me with sharp objects near your legs."

Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ve trusted you with a lot more in the past, moron. Remember the time you had to use a bandsaw to get me out of that cage?”

Stiles purses his lips, “Yeah, of course I do.”

"Well then," Derek shrugs, "This is nothing."

"Oh," Stiles’ expression lightens, and he beams up at Derek, "No, no. This is  _everything_. This is legendary. This is going to be told at every Thanksgiving from now until we’re ninety.”

Derek darts out a hand, catches Stiles’ t-shirt collar, “If you tell anyone I won’t ever put out to Prince again. He will be banned from the bedroom. Forever.”

Stiles stares up at him with wide eyes, “Dully noted.”

He tells everyone half an hour later. 

Derek throws out their Prince cds with the leather pants.

Stiles declares it worth it, and buys Derek a nice leather vest the next time he’s at the mall. Derek wears it, begrudgingly. He still won’t let Stiles keep talcum powder in the bathroom.

 


	3. The One With The Butt

Scott looks up expectantly as Stiles lets himself into their apartment. 

"So? How’d it go?"

"Nothing! It was fine. Good."

Derek looks up from where he’s drumming his fingers on the table top, glaring at Scott’s glass getting closer and closer to the wood. Without a coaster.

"Your first big movie role, and all you can say is it was fine?"

"It was," Stiles coughs, moves around them both and tugs open the fridge. "Everyone was pretty cool."

"Did you get many lines?"

"Uh huh," Stiles begins downing his water.

Scott and Derek exchange looks. Derek takes the caught eye contact to point at Scott’s glass, and then at the table. Scott rolls his eyes, waves it over the wood making a scared face. Derek snatches the glass off him altogether, stands with it and turns straight into Stiles. 

"Oof, sorry."

Stiles flushes, blinks across at him, “No biggie.”

Derek swallows, gaze darting down to his lips as he breathes in his familiar scent of shower gel and— that’s not his normal shower gel, though. 

"Why are you—" he frowns, "You change shower gels?"

"No," Stiles rubs the back of his neck nervously, pauses, "Do you know what my shower gel normally smells like?"

Scott snorts behind them, and when they spin to look at him he holds his hands up quickly. 

"Nothing. Although," he scrunches his own nose up, "You do smell different, dude."

"I had a shower!"

"Like, nine in a row?!"

"Yes, fine! The Movie role involves me having a shower, okay?"

Derek sits down very quickly. 

Scott frowns, “Why?”

"Because I was playing Ryan Gosling’s butt!"

There’s a prolonged silence, and Stiles flops into the chair next to Derek’s covers his face with his hands. 

"Uh," Scott nods slowly, "Okay? Cool? That dude’s hot, like, isn’t that a compliment?"

"It… it gets worse," Stiles sighs.

"It—" Derek clears his throat, tries to look concerned, "Did you have to play anything else of— of— the actor’s? Is that… something we’ll have to see?" Scott gives him a pointed look across the table, and Derek shakes himself. "Do you need a lawyer? Was someone inappropriate?"

"No," Stiles throws his arms on the table, buries his face in them. "Ioveracted," he mumbles.

Both Scott and Derek lean forward, “You what?”

Stiles snaps his head up and yells, “I over acted!”

"Your butt," Scott says finally, "You over acted, with your butt." 

"Yup."

"How do you— Is that even a thing?"

"Look, I just thought, you know, the character he plays has just run someone over and he’s feeling… you know… sad about it. So, I figured, there’d be clenching. He’d be stressed."

"Sure," Derek manages in a strangled voice. "Who doesn’t… do that when they’re stressed."

Scott shakes his head, standing up quickly as he claps his friend on the arm, “Dude, I’m sorry about the part, but my brother’s already getting weird and creepy with his face thinking about your ass, and I have to leave. You will get another job,” he promises, “You’re awesome. Have Derek make it up to you.”

Stiles stares up at him in surprise, and then looks to Derek, who is hiding his face in his own hands. 

"What?  _My_  butt?”

"Uh huh," Scott grins as he backs out of the apartment, "He’s butt crazy over you."

Derek still manages to groan at Scott’s terrible pun.

"What," Stiles says incredulously. "What? I mean, just. Dude!" He slaps Derek on the arm, "You could have been giving me ass pointers this morning and instead you were trying to prove you could be cool with us moving the furniture around?! We could have been having sex?! This _whole_  time?”

"I—" Derek spans his hands out wide, "I’m not a kook, okay."

"I don’t care about that!" Stiles pushes his chair back, yanks off his shirt. "Take your clothes off, oh my god, I spent all morning letting people look at my ass. I wanna look at yours as reward."

Derek’s mouth goes dry, and he stands, too, “Okay, yeah, okay.”

Stiles kicks his sneakers off, and they fly across the apartment, landing on the floor instead of by the shoe rack. Derek pauses. Stiles pauses. They both look at the sneakers. Derek looks up at Stiles’ naked chest, thinks about his butt, sees the look in Stiles’ eyes. 

"Screw it," he mutters, darting forward and half carrying Stiles into the bedroom. 

*

Stiles doesn’t even say anything when Derek creeps out to put them neatly away several hours later. He does insist Derek accompany him to the shower the next morning, and uses Derek’s shower gel. Derek is the only person ever allowed to look at his naked butt again.


	4. The One With The Worst Best Man Ever

"Hi," Derek smiles brightly at Stiles, and Stiles groan internally. He’s even more attractive in the daylight. In a fucking sweater. And glasses. What the hell. 

"Hi," he sighs out. "You came back."

"Well, you called," Derek ducks his head, peeks up at him shyly. "I don’t normally… Last night wasn’t what I had… expected."

"I know," Stiles bursts out, "I don’t normally meet people and just… fall into bed with them, either. Especially not angry cops."

Derek arches an eyebrow, and Stiles waves a hand in the air. “And, again, sorry for mistaking you, for uh, being a stripper. Although, you know, I would  _totally_ have called you for that.”

"You," Derek’s face falls, "Did you booty call me? On my day off?"

"No!" Stiles rushes out quickly, "I was gonna call and ask you to brunch tomorrow, I didn’t— wanna seem— too forward?"

"You weren’t going to call at all, were you?" Derek’s face falls. "What  _do_ you want, Stiles?”

"You have something of mine!" Scott bursts out from behind Stiles, brandishing the empty ring box in Derek’s face.

Derek blinks at him in confusion, “And you are?”

"Scott McCall! The groom. For the bachelor party you shut down last night."

Derek’s face clears, “Ah, the one puking in a punch bowl?”

Scott’s expression goes sheepish, and then hardens, “Yeah, and then you  _took_  something of mine.”

"I—" Derek looks between them, "Are you two getting married?"

"What?! No!" Stiles shoves a hand in Scott’s face, "Not Scott,  _bleurgh_ , no!”

"Hey, dude!"

"Look," Stiles wets his lips, looks at Derek earnestly. Tries not to have flashbacks to the night before when Derek had been just as close. He’d been so cross having to come all the way up to the apartment just to tell them to shut the fuck up. Stiles has no idea how he convinced the guy to stay after his shift finished, but man it had been awesome. They’d talked for so long, and then Derek had been kissing him, pressing him up against the couch, mouth warm and wet and delicious. And, oh man, Stiles had no idea how much he liked someone holding down his hands and  _pinning_ him to the bed until last night.

Heh. Derek had sure known how to make his toes curl.

He clears his throat, focuses, "I like you a lot, I really do! And, I really liked staying up and talking and you know…” Stiles’ cheeks heat up, “The other stuff after.” Derek’s face goes red, too, and Stiles wishes the ring thief wasn’t a dirty cop, wasn’t the best sex Stiles has had in years, wasn’t the person that had talked about the Mets with the kind of reverence Derek had last night. But,  _he is_. Stiles steals himself for the next part, Scott an agitated line against his back.

"But, I think maybe you might have accidentally picked up Scott’s fiancée’s engagement ring after. And, honestly, I know it must have been a mistake."

"You think I stole some stranger’s engagement ring and then came back to the scene of the crime the next day… to gloat?"

Stiles shuffles his feet, “Well, when you put it like that…”

"I’m a cop," Derek says flatly. "And, I was into  _you_ , not the fucking jewellery you had lying around.”

"Guys!" Danny interrupts from behind them, shakes out a mac and cheese box. "I found it."

"Thank god," Scott cries, darting away from the door, leaving Stiles looking at Derek apologetically.

"Goodbye, Stiles," Derek snaps, marching down the hallway. 

"Dude!" Stiles leaps after him, yanks the door shut and chases him down the stairs. "Wait!"

"Why? Do you have more crimes you want to accuse me of?"

"No," Stiles wrings his hands together, "I just— you’re a cop! You’re the good guy, and you’re so fucking hot, in and  _out_  of the uniform, okay? I couldn’t figure out why you’d… unless… you know… there was something in it for you.”

"Like an engagement ring," Derek leans against the banister, raises his eyebrows, "Stiles, I like you, but I’m not entirely ready for that big of a commitment just yet."

Stiles forgets himself for a moment, bares his teeth at him, “Ha  _ha_. I’m serious, though,” he bites his lip, “I just… that made sense? When Scott started running around this morning and you’d gone I just thought; okay, yeah, figures.”

"I had to go do all the paperwork I didn’t do last night, because I was," Derek coughs, "With you."

"Aw, shit," Stiles rubs a hand through his hair, "Dude, that’s so… you’re so… can I  _please_  try and make this up to you with brunch?”

Derek considers him for a moment, hums, “You’d need to get some shoes first. Heaven forbid anyone think I’d stolen them from you.”

"Wow, you’re really not gonna let that one go, are you?"

"Not for at least a month."

Hope swoops low in Stiles’ stomach and he beams at Derek, “A whole month? So, you’d be interested in maybe being around and playing my plus one at a wedding in three weeks?”

Derek cocks an eyebrow, “As long as you don’t introduce me as a stripper cop.”

Stiles bounces up on his toes, grabs Derek’s hand, “Deal.”

He introduces Derek as the cop that stole Stiles’ heart, instead. No one looks remotely amused, but it makes Derek’s ears go pink and that’s enough for Stiles.


	5. The One With The Prom Video

"Oh my  _god_ , dude, look at your floppy hair!” Stiles swats Scott in the chest as Derek puts down drinks, cranes his head to see what they’re watching. Something heavy drops in his stomach, panic begins to spread through his veins.

"What is this?"

"I’m not sure," Scott scratches his chin, "We found a bunch of home movies when mom and I were clearing some stuff out, earlier. This must be, what? Twenty-thirteen?"

"Shit! This is prom night!" Stiles begins laughing raucously when he sees himself on the screen; hair  _insanely_  over-gelled and suit ever so slightly too big.

Derek straightens up, “Turn it off.”

"What?" Scott glances up at him, "No! Dude, you weren’t even there!"

"No, no, look," Stiles nudges his knee, gestures at the screen to where Derek’s sitting on the stairs, aggressively ignoring the camera Melissa’s pointing his way. "You look so scrawny," he teases, "I don’t even remember you being around that night."

"You were distracted," Derek snaps, backing away from the television, and tripping over Lydia’s feet.

"Look at you guys," she coos fondly, elbows Allison, "Who did you go to prom with?"

"I can’t even remember," Allison laughs, clutches her chest when Scott spots the camera and beams at it, waves excitedly. "Oh my god, you look so cute!"

"I’m not watching this," Derek says shortly, marching into the kitchen as Stiles’ wails begin on the screen. 

"I can’t go to prom without a date, Scotty! Jackson will never let me live it down."

"Don’t worry," Scott says soothingly, patting his friend’s arm, "I’m sure she’s just late."

"She said she’d rather be dead than go with me! She must have found out about my crush on your—"

Melissa moves away from the living room, darts towards the stairs where Derek is lounging, pretending not to be looking into the living room right at Stiles. 

"Honey, I need you to do me a favor."

"Aw mom," Derek huffs, crosses his arms, "I’m not doing the dishwasher again, it’s Scott’s turn! Just because this is his big night."

Stiles turns away from the television to snicker at Derek, “Dude, you look so young and broody. I can’t get over it.”

Derek manages a faint smile, rubs his face and Stiles arches a quizzical eyebrow at him, “You okay?”

"Hey, shush," Scott hits him on the arm, "Dude, look."

"I just think he’s a nice boy, and he deserves to have a good time at prom."

"He’s not gonna wanna go with me, mom. I’m way too old. I’d embarrass him just asking."

"He’s been looking at you for months, Derek. And, I know you care about him. I think he’d be honoured, come on, go and get dressed. You can be his knight in shining armour."

Derek pulls a face that the camera only just catches from where it’s resting on Melissa’s knee. But, then he smiles suddenly, hopefully, and stands, wipes his hands on his knees, “Okay, yeah, I don’t have a suit, though.”

"That’s okay, you can borrow one of your dad’s—" the camera cuts out for a moment, and then it’s back to Derek standing nervously on the stairs again. The suit he’s wearing is too big, and he’s tugging at the collar awkwardly. 

"I look ridiculous," he says straight into the camera.

"You look very handsome," Melissa corrects, arm coming out to grab Derek’s, "You ready?"

Derek freezes, “I’m not— what if he thinks this is stupid?”

"Oh, honey, he’ll be excited to go with you!"

"Okay," Derek nods, lets out a breath and then gives the camera a thumbs up, "Lemme just—" he picks one of the sunflowers from Melissa’s vase on the window, and Melissa clucks her tongue. 

"That’s a little large, don’t you think?"

Derek shrugs, runs a hand through his hair, “He likes over the top stuff. Do I look alright? I mean, like, he’s not gonna think I’m being weird?”

"You look great!"

"Okay," Derek beams at the camera, nods to himself.

"Alright, Stiles, sweetie, we’ve got good news!" Melissa spins on the stairs, and the camera pans around to Scott and Stiles running out the door. 

"Bye, don’t wait up!"

"She called, I can’t believe she called!"

The door slams shut, Melissa drops the camera low, and it focuses on an upside down Derek, standing dejectedly on the stairs. He twists the flower in his fingers, looking at the door with an absolutely  _wrecked_ expression. “Oh dear,” Melissa murmurs.

"Don’t worry about it," Derek shrugs, very carefully places the sunflower back in the vase, touching the petals briefly as he walks slowly back up the stairs. 

"Derek?"

A door shuts, Melissa sighs, turns the camera off. 

The video snaps to Scott and Derek in a pool, Scott trying to drown Derek with an inner tube. Their laughter is the only sound in the living room. 

Scott sits up, wide eyed and staring at his brother, “ _Dude_.”

"It’s not a big deal," Derek insists, backing up against the fridge and looking anywhere but at Stiles. 

Stiles who is looking at  _Derek_  with total amazement.

He stands, crosses the room to stand in front of Derek. Without a word, he leans into Derek’s space, catches his face in his hands and ducks to press their mouths together. There’s a split second where Derek freezes, and then he melts into it, kissing back with all he has. His hands splay out across Stiles’ back before sliding up his arms and holding his face carefully as they kiss.

After a moment, they break apart, and Stiles rests his forehead against Derek’s, panting hard. 

"I can’t believe you never said anything."

Derek swallows hard, hunches up a shoulder, “It wasn’t a big—”

"It  _was_ ,” Stiles insists, throwing his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pressing his face into his neck, “It was,” he whispers again. 

Derek nods silently, dragging his hands up and down Stiles’ sides until they’re kissing again, falling against the fridge, oblivious to their surroundings.

Lydia smirks at them, Scott beams, settles back in his chair— because there’s some things he just doesn’t need to see— Allison nods, taps his hand. 

"I told you."

"What, babe?"

"They’re lobsters" she says contentedly. 

"Okay, is that good? Are we lobsters, too?"

"Of course."

"Awesome," Scott bounces in his chair, "This is awesome! You guys are lobsters!"

Stiles laughs against Derek’s mouth, doesn’t let go of him for even a second.

 


	6. The One Where Stiles Takes A Bath

Stiles lets himself into the apartment, yells his hello. Derek comes out of the bathroom and smiles softly at him. 

"Hey."

"You know, you really should come out to greet me naked, like, every time," Stiles waves an arm around, "Just throwing it out there."

Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ll bear it in mind.”

"All I ask," Stiles hangs up his coat, comes towards him and sighs happily as Derek sweeps him into one of his big, welcome home,  _I secretly missed you a lot_  hugs. With his nose buried in Stiles’ neck and everything. It’s awfully nice, Stiles doesn’t even care how much of a sap it makes him.

"How was your day?"

"Ahh," he pulls back to rub his eyes, "Allison and Scott are arguing about baby names."

Derek winces, “They’re still not— seeing eye to eye?”

"Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure Allison is choosing all the names of ex-boyfriends just to wind Scott up. It’s hilarious to watch for about thirty seconds, then it just gets draining, you know?"

"I do," Derek rubs his shoulders, "You know what would help?"

Stiles’ eyes light up, “Sex on the balcony?”

"With the people above and below and to each side, and the pigeon shit all over the floor? Sure!"

"We could get a  _blanket_.”

"Stiles, no, no sex on the balcony."

"Maybe I just won’t put out in bed next time, then."

"Okay."

"Great, so, we just won’t have sex later… Or, in the morning, or thursday afternoon or…"

"Mhm," Derek smirks, waiting him out, and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

"Fine! What was your less than awesome  _sex on the balcony_  suggestion gonna be?”

"I always find baths de-stress me."

Stiles lets out a laugh, pats Derek’s cheek as he sidles around him and heads for the fridge, “I’m not really a… sit in your own filth kind of person.”

Derek arches an eyebrow, “We have sex after you’ve been to the gym, and you never want to shower after that.”

"Different," Stiles retorts, points at him, "And, you’re the one that likes how I smell after shit like that."

"I’m not the one claiming baths aren’t good for the— the— soul."

Stiles lowers his bottle of water, “Did you really just…  _the soul?_ ”

"Yes," Derek says firmly, straightens up. "I’ll draw you one, right now, and if you don’t like it, we can discuss sex on the balcony."

"Really?!" Stiles shimmies out of his t-shirt, tosses it at Derek, "What are you waiting for? Go! Make me a bath, bitch."

Derek stops in the bathroom door, tilts his head to one side mildly. 

"Uh, I’m gonna retract that sentence," Stiles says quickly. "You are a wonderful, kind, delightful asshole that I love and adore and respect?"

Derek closes the door with an unamused look. 

*

It turns out— as is always the fucking truth these days— Derek was right. 

Stiles’ soul feels good and clean when he’s in the bath. He might live in it. If he could just persuade Derek to stay and prune in the water with him, he’d be happy for the rest of his days. Scott could visit with the baby, maybe he or she would grow up thinking Stiles and Derek were some sort of special urban mermen!

They’d need a fridge, obviously. 

And, he’s not entirely sure how they’d manage sex. 

Balcony sex discussion! He needs to get out and find his pros and cons list to persuade Derek with.

*

"Derek!" Stiles sails into the apartment, snickering at his phone, "You gotta see this; Scott took pictures of all the terrifying babies on the wall at the doctor’s office and oh my  _god_ — this one looks like you! His eyebrows are—”

Stiles trails off as Derek wanders out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. 

"Wow, are you working up to the naked thing? Because this is… definitely how I want to be welcomed home every time from now on."

Derek snorts, slips around him and kisses his shoulder as he leans over it to look at Stiles’ phone. 

"That one looks nothing like me."

"You gotta squint a little. I mean, he’s sort of prettier than you, otherwise."

Derek cuffs him across the back of the head. 

"Hey! What are you doing, anyway?"

"Gonna have a bath," Derek shrugs, "Had a long work out, earlier."

"Yeah, you did."

"I meant at the gym," Derek gives him a sly look, and Stiles flips him off. 

"I’ve been told I’m the best, and most voracious you’ve ever had, so fuck off."

"I have never used the word voracious to describe your love making skills."

"Ack! Don’t—" Stiles huffs out a sigh, "Do you have to call it that?"

"Well, I love you, and you love me, and when we have sex it’s an expression of that," Derek shrugs as he begins padding towards the bedroom. "What else would I call it?"

"Screwing around!"

"We haven’t done that since you were twenty, idiot!"

"Fucking?"

"Well," Derek peeks around the door, two books in hand as he chooses between them, "Sometimes, sure." He disappears again, continues talking, "If you’re not ready to call it making love, you’re not ready for it on the balcony!"

"Oh, I will be ready," Stiles murmurs, shedding his jacket and diving for the bathroom door. 

Derek reappears in the bathroom, freezes as he’s dropping his towel. 

"Stiles!"

"Yes?" Stiles beams up at him from the bubbles, "May I say that is a lovely shade of naked you’re wearing."

"You’re in my bath!"

"Hey! I thought when we got married we agreed to share everything."

Derek drops his book on the toilet seat, puts his hands on his hips, “This is completely unacceptable bath decorum, Stiles.”

"Ohh, man, I know, but it’s so hard to care when you’re  _so_  naked and I’m _so_  relaxed.”

Derek shoves his head under the water for a moment, and Stiles splutters back up laughing, grabs his arm.

"Stop, you can’t drown me! Remember your vows!"

"Fine," Derek swings one leg over the edge of the tub, and then suddenly there’s a hundred and eighty pounds of hot, wet, naked man sitting on Stiles.

"Oh my god, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven."

Derek rolls his eyes, blows bubbles in his face, “You left me no choice.”

"I am more than okay with this decision, dude," Stiles finds his calf under the water, squeezes it tightly, "More than."

"We’re not screwing around," Derek warns, settling back against the other end of the bath. His legs come up around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles lets out a noise of pure contentment, wiggles his toes against Derek’s back. 

“‘S’okay, we can  _make love_ , later.”

Derek rolls his eyes again, but his mouth curves in a smile and he catches hold of one of Stiles’ ankles wordlessly.

Scott and Allison disturb their peace twenty minutes later. Scott wails about his eyes as Allison benignly waves a sonogram in their faces. She casually suggests Stiles might need to rearrange his bubbles, and Derek growls at them both until they leave. Stiles has no idea how he managed to make it intimidating considering he literally has a beard of bubbles, but he does. He’s the best like that—

"We’re not having sex on the balcony, Stiles, now matter how much you compliment me."

"Fine! But, we should at least try in here."

"I agree," Derek nods, pushes through the water to press Stiles back against the ceramic, gets foam all over Stiles’ chin as he kisses him.

 


	7. The One Where Scott Finds Out

So, they’re half naked on the couch. Stiles is dragging one hand up Derek’s back, the other linked with Derek’s above their heads. Derek is a sweet line of heat on top of him, grinding his hips down, kissing behind his ear, murmuring stupidly endearing stuff as he does so. Stiles is laughing, wrapping his legs round Derek’s waist and just about to declare Derek should carry him into the bedroom, when the door bursts open.

Scott slams on the light, yells when he sees them, “I knew it! I saw and I couldn’t believe it until— I can’t— What the hell!”

Derek curses, loses his balance, slips off the couch and because their damn hands are still twined together, Stiles goes with him. 

"Oof, smooth moves, baby," he mutters.

"Shut up!" Derek hisses, rubbing his elbow and glaring as Scott rounds the couch, darts towards them. 

"I can’t believe you! How could you?!"

"Scott," Stiles swallows hard, tries not to panic about how angry his friend looks. "I can—"

"Get the hell off my best friend!"

Oh. He didn’t see that coming. 

"Scott," Derek begins again, "This isn’t what it looks like."

"Oh, really? Because from my damn window it looks like the two of you letting out years of pent up sexual tension and he deserves better than that!"

Stiles holds up a hand, squints in the light, “Bro’, it’s not what you think.”

"He’s not nice enough for you," Scott insists, "You’re always saying what an asshole he is!"

"Heh, yeah, but I sort of… am too?"

"You are not," Scott seethes indignantly, glowering down at them and then wincing. "Can you both put some shirts on?"

"No," Derek huffs, standing up and stepping into his brother’s space. "This is my apartment. I can do what I like here."

"That doesn’t include my best friend! He needs someone that will take care of him and listen when he rants about things that don’t seem important but really are and— and— how did this even happen!?"

"I do care about him," Derek holds up a finger, "And, I do listen to him and—"

"It happened at a time when we both really needed someone," Stiles leaps up, slides his hand into Derek’s. Apart from anything else, Scott really doesn’t need enraging further discovering his brother and his best man were screwing around the entire weekend of his wedding. Stiles is pretty sure no one needs to know he carried lube around in his dress pants, or that he and Derek defiled about twelve different bathrooms, and snuck off during the speeches. Or, that he learnt he likes the way Derek’s hands fit into the grooves of his hips, likes the way his name falls from Derek’s lips, delights in the fact Derek’s toes curl when he’s gonna come, or that he sleeps with one arm thrown over his head and the other always found a way to be holding onto Stiles. 

"Look," he takes a breath, leans up against Derek’s back. "We didn’t want you to find out this way."

"My  _best friend_ ,” Scott sighs, still glaring at Derek. “You couldn’t screw around with anyone else?”

"We’re not screwing around," Derek says firmly, tugs Stiles close, "We’re serious."

Stiles peeks a glance up at him, “We are?”

Derek twists to look at him, “Pretty fucking serious. I love you,” he turns back to Scott, “I love him.”

"I," Stiles ducks around Derek, stands in front of him and meets his friend’s eye, "Me too. I love him, Scotty, man. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner— I wasn’t sure— he wasn’t sure. We didn’t wanna mess up and stress you guys out."

"I’m not stressed," Scott cries, hair sticking up all over the place and what Stiles is sure is a piece of chinese noodle stuck to his t-shirt. "I’m fine! I mean—" he gestures between them, tips his head to one side. "My best friend, and my brother."

"Uh huh," Stiles edges cautiously closer to Derek, "Is that— are we—"

"My best friend and my brother!" Scott repeats much more happily, "This is great! We can finally be brothers!!"

"I know!"

"Glad to know what your priorities are," Derek mutters, and Stiles slaps him on the stomach, still beaming at his best friend.

And then suddenly they’re hugging, and Stiles is half naked with the  _other_ Hale-McCall, but it’s a whole lot less sexy, obviously. Until Derek throws his arms around the both of them, and his naked front is pressed against Stiles’ naked back and Scott disentangles himself groaning. 

"You guys!"

"This is why we didn’t tell you!"

"I can’t believe I missed it," Scott points between them, "You’re the least subtle, ever. I bet this started in London! You had heart eyes all weekend."

"I did not," Stiles and Derek both say at the same time, and then both flush. 

Scott claps his hands together, “So weird, so cute. I’m gonna hug you again, bro.”

"Bring it in," Stiles declares, throwing his arms around Scott’s shoulders. 

"Don’t hurt him," Scott whispers in his ear. 

"I promise, dude," Stiles catches Derek’s eye over Scott’s shoulder, "I promise."

 


	8. The One Where Lydia Moves Out

"Lemme see, lemme see!"

"Hey," Stiles smacks Allison’s hand away gently, ducks around her to head for the couch, "No one is looking until Derek sees."

"Derek sees what?" Scott ambles out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

"Stiles and Lydia went to get tattoos," Allison blurts out before Stiles can explain himself. 

"Thank you,  _tell tale_ ,” Stiles hisses, and Allison sticks her tongue out at him. 

"If you won’t let me see it—"

"You got a tattoo?" Scott interrupts incredulously, "Dude, what the hell?! I thought we were gonna get  _best friend’s forever_  ones when we were forty, and not a day before!”

"This one’s different," Stiles flushes, rubs his nose, “‘S’personal."

"Oh my  _god_ ,” Allison narrows her eyes suspiciously, “You didn’t get  _I heart Derek_ , did you?”

"Yes, Allison, I got a gigantic red heart on my arm and had  _Derek_  and the number one inside it,” Stiles snarks. 

"I wouldn’t put it past you in your gross, sappy, loved up haze."

"Shouldn’t that have ended by now?" Scott whines, "It’s been like two years and you’re still all over each other. It’s weird. He’s my brother. He’s ugly and he smells."

"He is  _not!_  What are you, ten? He happens to smell pretty good to me, man. Besides, we have to listen to you and Allison argue about the specifications of being on a break all the time, bro, fair is fair.”

"We  _were_  on a break,” Scott mutters, and Allison stands from the couch, whirls on him. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he gives her a weak smile, "I love you?"

Allison rolls her eyes, turns to Lydia, “So, what did you get?”

Lydia pushes her top off her shoulder, gestures to the gorgeous, extremely detailed wailing woman on her back. There’s whorls of roses and arrows around it, and the woman herself looks powerful, magical, almost alive. Stiles had watched, totally hypnotized as it had come to life. Lydia hadn’t complained about the pain once, and had spent the four hour session flipping through a magazine and reorganizing her purse. 

"Nice," Allison breathes out, settles down beside her to examine it more closely, "Are those—"

"Based on your arrows? Of course," Lydia smiles at her over her shoulder, readjusts the Saran-wrap. "It felt right."

"So did mine," Stiles huffs childishly. "And, it wasn’t a damn heart."

"I wouldn’t have let you get that," Lydia tells him. 

"Hey! If I had wanted a gigantic tattoo of Derek’s face on my chest I would have gotten it. I am a grown ass man, with a grown ass tattoo and this is—"

Derek lets himself into the apartment, pauses when he sees Stiles about to shove his pants down. 

"Afternoon," he says carefully, hanging up his jacket, "You too hot again?" he asks mildly.

Stiles blushes, tugs his t-shirt back into place, “No, I was just gonna prove a point about something.”

"I do personally always find your arguments more compelling when they’re done naked," Derek concedes. 

"Thirty seconds," Scott mumbles, "New record for bringing up Stiles naked. My brother, ladies and gentlemen."

Derek flips him off, staring at where Stiles’ fresh ink is hidden under his pants. 

"What is— you hurt yourself?" He strides across the room, fingers reaching out to touch in concern and Stiles backs away. 

"No! I’m fine, I just… have to tell you something."

Derek’s eyes go wide and weary, and he glances to where Lydia’s rolling her shoulder with a grimace, and Allison’s watching them expectantly. 

"Is it— are we okay?"

"Yeah! More than," Stiles promises, steps back towards him as he pushes the waistband of his pants down. 

Derek sucks in a breath, “Stiles, public sex is one thing, but in front of—”

"I  _knew_  it was you two I saw when I was out with Erica last week,” Lydia declares as Scott groans and hides his face. 

"Shut up! You saw nothing!" Stiles snaps at them both nervously.

"I saw way too much of your butt," she mutters darkly. Scott reaches over to pat her arm sympathetically.

Stiles ignores them, urges Derek closer until he can see the curve of his hipbone, see the Saran-wrap. 

"Stiles, what did you—" Derek peels back the wrap, sucks in a breath. " _Oh_.”

"Happy Anniversary," Stiles murmurs with a sly grin. 

Derek runs a finger around the edge of the design, swallows hard. 

"I— we should—" he looks up at Stiles, pupils blown and expression intense. "You can still manage sex stuff, right?"

Stiles laughs, “Yeah, yeah I can do… stuff, heh,  _woah_ —” Derek yanks on his hand, begins tugging him towards the bedroom. 

"Get out," Derek yells over his shoulder. 

"It’s my apartment, too," Allison grumbles. 

“ _Fuck_ ," Stiles sighs out loudly as Derek presses him up against the wall. "Ah, do that again, little more teeth,  _yeah_ , shit.”

"Okay, I’m out," she grabs her jacket and Lydia’s arm. 

"But, _I’m_ more than happy to—"

"Now!"

"Hurry," Scott whines, already waiting for them out in the corridor. 

Allison locks the door.

Stiles beams up at Derek from the bed, shirtless and arching into his hands. Derek traces the lines of the tiny triskele with reverence, lips parted as he bends to kiss beside it. 

“‘S’good present, right?”

"Mhm," Derek mouths along his stomach, up the centre of his chest, "But, you’re the best gift of all."

"Aw, shit, dude, you can’t say sappy stuff like that when we’re gonna bone. This isn’t the right mood. I want it hard and fast."

Derek smirks, “You’re the one that got a tattoo to go with mine, you’re just as bad.”

"Seems to me like we make a good match," Stiles shrugs, winds his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pulls him close, "I still want it hard and fast, though, and you should put your hand right—" he moves Derek’s hand to press against the tattoo, sucks a breath in through his teeth. "Yeah, there."

Derek doesn’t need telling twice to keep his hands near the ink. Touches it without thought when the pass one another in the apartment, presses his fingertips to it when they’re kissing, knows the shape and the pattern of it as well as his own, traces it in sleep, feels all the more like he belongs for it. 

Which, of course, was what Stiles was going for. He didn’t say he wasn’t just a little bit of a sap.

 


	9. The One Where No One Proposes

"So, the baby seemed really cute," Stiles comments as Derek tugs him down the corridor.

"Uh huh."

"And, I think Allison and Scott are maybe talking in a good way? Like, Scott got a ring!"

"I know, it’s our grandmother’s."

"Hey, why didn’t I get that one?"

Derek smirks, leans him up against the wall, “Jealous?”

"I,  _no_ —” Stiles twists and grabs Derek’s collar, “Oh my god, look! More babies!”

Derek leans over his shoulder, squeezes his hips tightly, “They are very… cute.”

"You want one?"

"Mhm," Derek buries his nose in the back of Stiles’ neck, "Yeah."

Stiles hisses, arches back into him, “Yeah, we can’t do  _that_  here.”

Derek grabs his hand, tugging him along the corridor again before yanking him into an empty room.

Stiles grins in the darkness, pulls him close to kiss him heatedly, ”You realise we can’t actually make a baby this way, right?”

Derek laughs against Stiles’ mouth, rucks up his shirt, “Yeah, you need to be standing on your head.”

"I could manage that," Stiles sucks in a breath as Derek shoves his pants down, bucks into his hand. "Dude."

"Shh," Derek whispers, dropping to his knees and mouthing at Stiles’ hipbone. 

"Oh god, if I’d have known babies did it for you I would have volunteered us to babysit the triplets years ago."

"Babies don’t do it for me," Derek pulls back, gives him a horrified look. "I don’t—"

"I know," Stiles grins, runs a clumsy hand along his cheek. "But, you do wanna be a daddy, I can see it in your face. You and me, havin’ a  _kid_.”

Derek exhales sharply, stands and presses into Stiles, kissing him desperately. Stiles grins against his lips, tugs him closer and starts trying to get his shirt off. Derek steps away, yanks it over his head and discards it somewhere before they’re kissing again, heated and frantic. 

"Shit, get your pants off—"

"Watch the damn bucket—"

"Ah, fuck, is that your hand or a mop— never mind, it’s you, yeah, gimme two."

"Stiles."

"Fuck, yes,  _faster_.”

There’s a knock on the closet door, and they both still, Derek’s fingers slowly pulling out of Stiles in what would be so ridiculously sexy on any other occasion. 

"Ah, boys, I couldn’t help but notice you heading in here—" Melissa clears her throat as Derek’s cheeks begin to burn against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles can actually  _feel_  him blushing. 

"I just thought I’d let you know, there’s much more hygienic places to have baby, uh, discussions," Melissa pushes something under the door, and Stiles sees it’s a map of the hospital. 

Oh,  _god_.

"Perhaps you could come out of the janitor’s closet as soon as possible," she adds sweetly, "Carl would like to access his cleaning supplies."

They watch her shadow disappear, and Stiles goes limp against the shelves, Derek breathing heavily at his front. 

"Shall we just… stay in here forever?"

Derek nods wordlessly. 

"Okay, cool," Stiles runs a hand through his hair, kisses his cheek, "You’d make a hot janitor, people would never wanna leave the hospital!"

Derek nips at his skin, and Stiles laughs hysterically. 


	10. The One Where No One's Ready

"I don’t understand why we need to get ready,  _now_ ,” Stiles grumbles, tossing a chip in his mouth as he stares blankly at the television.

"Because you need several hours to look remotely acceptable for public appearances," Derek snipes, stealing the chip bag and smirking as Stiles flips him off. 

"You both need to get ready," Scott moans, trying to chivvy Stiles out of his arm chair. "I need everyone ready by six forty-five! It’s five to, now!"

"Babe!" Allison runs out of her bedroom in her dressing gown, and for a moment Scott tries to cover Stiles’ eyes, and then realises he hasn’t even looked up from where he’s glowering at Derek. 

"Uh," he runs a hand through his hair, "You okay?"

"How black tie is the black tie, here? Do I need something that says future Mayor’s wife, or just like it’s Derek’s birthday again and he wants us all to go to a fancy restaurant and pretend we fit in?"

"You didn’t even  _try_  to fit in,” Derek cuts in crossly.

"Hey man, I wore a tux," Stiles points out. 

"Yes," Derek’s mouth dries up a little at the memory, and then he scowls, "And, then proceeded to have a bread roll fight with Scott across the table."

"It wasn’t a fight! We were trying to see how many he could catch in his mouth!"

"I got crumbs down my damn pants," Derek hisses. 

"Well," Stiles pauses, tries not to look at Derek’s pants— despite them not being the one’s he was wearing at the dinner the week before— shakes his legs about trying to dismiss images of Derek digging crumbs out from between his thighs. "I’m sorry about that," he says finally. 

"You don’t look sorry."

"You don’t look—"

"Neither of you look  _ready!_ " Scott bursts out, coming back out of the bedroom with a purple shoe and a black shoe. "Which ones?"

"For you?" Stiles squints, "I don’t think they’re totally your style, dude."

Derek snorts and Scott glares at them both. 

"For Allison,  _dick_ , help me pick!”

"Fine," Stiles dusts off his hands, follows Scott back into the bedroom. 

Lydia sails into the apartment as Derek’s settling into Stiles’ chair. It’s so nice and warm and it smells  _so nicely_  of Stiles. 

"You look great," he tells her, rubbing his nose against the fabric of the chair for just a moment. He’s just adjusting to it, shut up!

"I know," Lydia does a twirl, comes over to perch on the table. "Why aren’t you ready?"

Derek shrugs, wiggles his shoulders into the chair, “‘S’comfy here.”

Stiles flies out the bedroom laughing wickedly, and a shoe follows, hitting him on the head. He bats it away, and then his eyes fall on Derek. 

"What are you doing in my chair?"

"Sitting."

Stiles’ gaze flicks to Lydia briefly, “Hi, you look beautiful.  _Get out of my chair_ , Derek.”

"It doesn’t belong to you," Derek sniffs, "This is  _my_  apartment.”

"I— but—" Stiles opens and closes his mouth, flabbergasted. "I was sitting there thirty seconds ago. You saw! I always sit there."

"I thought it was time we broke with tradition, now I’m sitting here," Derek smirks up at him.

"But, I was sitting there! Where am I gonna sit now?"

"Go sit on the nice,  _cold_  couch, sit anywhere you like, I’m not stopping you.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, and then stalks over to Derek, and sits on him. 

"Stiles!"

"What?" Stiles wiggles about, and Derek muffles a groan. "You said sit anywhere! This is where I’m sitting."

Lydia rolls her eyes as Stiles bites his lip, enjoying just how firm and hot Derek’s thighs feel beneath him. 

"I am feeling  _soooo_  comfortable, right now,” he manages in a strangled voice. 

"You look  _great_  in purple, that dress brings out your eyes!” Scott calls, backing out of the bedroom and turning to survey the room. “What the hell?! I was gone less than three minutes!”

"Derek is a seat stealer," Stiles declares. 

"It’s my damn chair," Derek says against the back of his neck, and Stiles tries not to shudder. 

"Get up," Scott points at him, "If you love me at all you will  _go and get ready_ , right now!”

"Fine," Stiles leaps up, punches Derek’s thigh as he does so, and Derek groans, curls in on himself. "I don’t want your stupid chair, anyway."

"Lydia," Scott kisses her cheek, "You look amazing."

The door bursts open, and Erica runs into the apartment, dives over to the phone, “Did anyone call?”

"Our phone. For you?"

"Uh huh," she begins dialling, nods at Lydia, "You look smokin’."

"Thank you," Lydia smiles warmly, "You look fab, too."

"I know," Erica says absently, jerks as someone answers the phone and slams it down. "Do you think he knew it was me?"

"No," Derek says drily, getting up to get changed himself now that Stiles isn’t around to wind up, "He’ll assume it was me calling and hanging up without a word. Seeing as it is  _my_  phone.”

Erica glares at him, grabs the chip bag and throws it at his head. Derek swats it away, and the chips fly all over Lydia. 

"Oh, oh, fuck, Derek James Hale!"

Stiles bursts back into the room as Lydia’s yelling, and Derek is briefly distracted by how  _very_  handsome he looks in a suit, before Stiles launches himself across the couch and dives for the chair.

Derek tries to get there first, but Scott gets a fist in the back of his sweats, yanks them down, and Derek ends up sprawled on the living room floor, pants around his ankles. 

Stiles begins laughing so hard he falls off the chair, and Allison runs in, still half dressed, to find out what the commotion’s about. 

"Enough!" Scott yells. "Derek, quit your dumb ass flirting and go get a suit on. Lydia, shake it out, you’re fine and your dress will recover from the chip explosion. Erica, please hang up the phone and help Allison get dressed."

"But, honey," Allison begins, "I can’t find the right—"

"It doesn’t matter if it’s right," Scott tries to assure her, "You’d look beautiful in a trash bag."

"But, this is your big night! I don’t want to ruin it."

"Allison, it’s half past six, we’re already going to be late.  _Please_ ,” Scott grits his teeth, “Go and get ready before I sweat out of my suit!” He shakes out his hands when he realises he’s still holding the two odd shoes, and tosses them away, “Bah!”

Allison narrows her eyes at him, “Those were Prada.”

"I don’t care! I’ll buy you new ones."

"You don’t care, huh," Allison nods slowly, begins moving towards her bedroom, "Okay."

Scott watches her go, and Stiles clucks his tongue, “You may be in a little trouble there, dude.”

"Oh shut  _up_ , you and my brother are fighting over a chair. You’re getting so bad, you might as well pee in circles around each other.”

"Hey!"

"Alright," Derek stalks out of his bedroom, points at Stiles, "Where’d you put them."

Stiles blinks up at him, “What are you talking about?”

"My lucky—" Derek stops, glances around the room to where Lydia and Erica are both looking at him curiously. "My lucky underwear," he says crossly, placing his hands on his hips and kicking Stiles’ foot. "Where are they?"

"Are you serious," Scott marches between them, "I mean, are you really doing this to me?"

"I’m not doing anything," Stiles argues, scratching his ear, "I don’t know what he’s talking about."

Derek steps around Scott, goes to grab Stiles’ leg, “Stiles, dammit!”

Stiles kicks at his hands, laughing gleefully, “I know you like my calves, Derek, but really, all you have to do is ask.”

Derek lets go like he’s been burned, face flushing, “Okay, fine.” He heads for the door as Scott sighs into his hands. 

"Hello, Boyd?" Erica says into the phone. 

Scott jerks his head head up, “Who let her call him again?”

"I just wanna say that… I… It’s six thirty here and… I was just thinking…You should come… To this thing for Scott. It’s just a boring ceremony—"

"Hey!"

"But, uh… You’d make it fun! And, I know this is last minute, but I…" Erica glances nervously around at them, and then leans into the phone, "Imissyoupleasecome," she says quickly.

"Smooth," Stiles whispers, and Erica presses the heel of her boot into his shin. 

"Ahh, fuck! Scott, help!"

Scott holds up a hand, “I am this close to killing all of you.”

"Alright," Derek bangs back into the apartment, and Erica drops the phone as they stare at him. 

"Oh my god," Stiles leaps up, pointing to where Derek’s standing in what looks like his entire closet. "What the hell?!"

"You steal my lucky underwear, I take  _all_  your clothes.”

"You," Stiles tries not to begin laughing, tries to keep an angry facade up. "Oh my god, how did you even do that?"

Derek shrugs, “Was easy seeing as all you own are ridiculously baggy pants and stupid t-shirts.”

"You—" Stiles pauses, "Is that my Hulk shirt? Derek! You’re gonna stretch it with your ridiculous muscles!"

"Oh no," Derek widens his eyes in mock concern, "I better not start doing any  _stretches_ ,” he begins lifting his arms above his head, and Stiles darts at him.

"Fucker!"

Derek catches him, and they slam to the floor, grappling with one another.

"Take off my clothes!"

"Stiles," Derek laughs breathlessly, "If you wanted me to get naked, all you had to do was ask."

Stiles slides his hands under the bottom shirt, and runs them along Derek’s ribs. Derek retaliates, shoving his hands up the back of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles sits up on top of him, tries to tug at the shirt. 

"God dammit—"

Derek follows, curling upwards to get his arms around Stiles’ back. They’re panting into one another’s mouths, both trying not to laugh and then Stiles surges forward and kisses Derek, eyes wide open. Derek makes a noise of surprise, and falls back onto the floor, pulling him close and kissing him back desperately. 

"Nooooo!" Scott races over to them as Erica peers over the couch, silently handing Lydia twenty bucks. 

Lydia nods, puts it down the front of her dress, rubs away a few stray chip crumbs.

"Stop it," Scott groans, heaving at Stiles’ shoulder. "This is— unacceptable— not— not— gross, Stiles, I can see your tongue!"

"Christ," Derek breaks away, hauls himself up with Stiles and begins backing them towards the door. 

"No!" Scott darts after them, clasps his hands together, "Make out later! Do this later!"

Stiles hits Derek in the chest, and Derek removes his hand from the back of his pants, “Alright, sorry, dude. We got, uh, caried away. It’s just—”

"It’s been about five years coming," Lydia pipes up.

"Oh, shut up with your knowing looks," Stiles points at her, and then pauses when Allison comes back into the living room, in what looks like a trash bag.

Scott gapes at her, “Babe?”

"You said you didn’t care," Allison shrugs.

"I," Scott’s face crumples. "I do—"

Allison whips off the trash bag, revealing a slinky red dress, and grins wickedly, “Just kidding, baby.”

Scott clutches his chest, falls back agaisnt the door, “Oh my god, thank god, babe, you are the  _best_  and most amazing.”

"I know," she smiles brightly, coming over to smooth down his hair, "You still owe me Prada shoes after that little display, though."

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, kissing her sweetly, "I’m sorry, it’s just those two," he gestures behind him to where Stiles and Derek are elbowing each other. "They were—"

"I know," Allison cuts them a steely glance, "But, they’re going to behave tonight, right? I might even stay at yours, if Derek were interested in having a little privacy."

"He is," Stiles immediately volunteers, "Till breakfast at least."

"As long as you behave," Allison says firmly, "Scott has worked his butt off for tonight, and he deserves the best night."

"A night we’re now twenty minutes late for," Lydia points out.

Scott whines, “Fuck, my boss is going to kill—”

There’s a knock on the door.

"No! Not more chaos," Scott cries, "I’m going to have a heart attack."

"Chill out, drama queen," Derek chides, moving to open the door.

"Shut up! You’re just smug you’re going to have sex later. For the first time in about ten years," Scott hisses back, just as Derek pulls the door open, and Boyd gives them all a flat look.

"I hate your friends," he tells Erica. 

She laughs, hurries over to him. 

"You look great," Boyd tells Lydia. 

"I know," Lydia smirks at him.

"You look…" Boyd shakes his head at Derek, "Like someone dragged your hair though a bush."

"Hell yeah, they did," Stiles crows, holds his hand high for Boyd to slap. 

"No," Boyd shuts him down.

Derek slaps it instead.

"You are my  _favorite_ ,” Stiles whispers. Derek flushes, grins at the floor.

"So, we going?" Boyd looks at them all expectantly, "I got two cabs downstairs, and it’ll only take five minutes to get there. What the hell took you so long? I’ve been waiting since half past."

"Thank god, you did get my last four messages," Erica beams, throws her arms around his shoulders, and they head out the door. "You can delete that last one, it was dumb."

"No chance."

Scott kisses Allison’s hand as Lydia smooths his collar on her way past, links her arm through Allison’s.

Stiles catches Derek’s jacket sleeve, tugs him back, “Hey.”

Derek arches an eyebrow, “ _What_. Why do you look like you’ve done something that’s going to get us in trouble?”

Stiles smirks, “I’m wearing your lucky underwear, you know.”

"You are."

"Uh huh, and if  _you_  get lucky, you might get to take ‘em off later.”

Derek watches him saunter out of the apartment, knees suddenly weak.

"Derek!" Scott screeches up the stairs, "Come on!"

 


	11. The One With The Birth

Derek watches another set of parents go past, smiling brightly down at the baby in her mother’s arms. 

He tries to quell the panic slowly growing in his stomach. What if he never has the chance to be a dad? What if his past relationship screwed him up so badly he’ll never manage to prove himself worthy of being trusted… of being loved, ever again?

"You look way too sad for this ward, man," Stiles elbows him from where he’s sitting next to Derek, legs spread out across the next chair, and head half in Derek’s lap. "Why so blue?"

"Nothing," Derek shrugs immediately. 

"You should be happy," Stiles reminds him, "You’re gonna be an uncle!"

"What if  _I’m_  never a dad, though?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “What if I’m too— too—” he glares down at his hands, swallows, “Never mind.”

Stiles squirms until he’s sitting upright, looks at him intently, “Derek, you know you’re gonna be a dad, and you’ll be a great one.”

"Who the hell’s gonna have a baby with me? You?!"

Stiles blinks slowly, “Uh, I mean, are you thinking we steal one, or—”

"See," Derek snaps, "No-one wants to have a baby with me."

"You can’t just go around asking people if they want to have babies, man! People will think you’re some sort of weird baby dealer!"

"And, this is why I’ll never find someone to have children with!"

"Alright, chill your bones, okay? How about this—" Stiles scratches the back of his neck, glances at Derek nervously, "If neither of us are married and settled by forty, we have a baby, together."

Derek arches an eyebrow, still not feeling much better. As if Stiles won’t have been snapped up by some god damn lucky,  _normal_  person. “So, you really don’t think  _I’ll_   be married by the time I’m forty?”

"No, no—"

"Why won’t I be married when I’m forty?" Derek crosses his arms self-consciously.

"I did  _not_  see this backfiring,” Stiles groans, “Is there anyway I come out of this alive?”

Derek glowers at him, “I don’t know; is there something totally gross and un-marriable about me?”

“ _No!_  Oh my god, I would marry you tomorrow if I thought Scott wouldn’t be totally pissed about us stealing his thunder about his first born!”

Derek feels his eyes go wide, and Stiles’ cheeks flame. 

"I was just… you know, putting it out there," Stiles rolls his eyes crossly, "Like, _we_ wouldn’t make a good match. You’d be  _lucky_  to marry me, fuck off.”

"I didn’t say I wouldn’t be!"

“ _Fine_ , then agree we’ll get married when we’re forty!”

"Or, we could just have god damn dinner tomorrow and see what happens before we’re too old to have half decent, flexible sex."

"Fine, count me—" Stiles bites his tongue, "Oh my god, we  _really_  should have sex before we’re forty.”

"Fine by me," Derek settles back in his chair, reaches for the magazine he’d abandoned earlier. 

He watches Stiles out of the corner of his eye, and slowly, Stiles leans back into Derek’s space, rests his head cautiously back on Derek’s thigh. 

"Of course," he says quietly, "I might wanna marry you before we’re forty. If we’ve, you know, successfully dated and not killed each other first."

Derek smirks, “I think I could handle that.”

"No babies for at least a year, though, man, although," Stiles scratches his nose, "It’d be cool for Scott’s kid to have a cousin."

"Mhm," Derek looks down at him, smiles shyly, "Why don’t we just see how dinner goes, first?"

Stiles grins back, and without thinking about it, Derek leans down and kisses him. 

The doors swing back, and this time it’s Scott who comes through them, his hair sticking upright and his eyes huge like saucers. 

"Guys, guys, it’s— it’s a— are you kissing— I have a baby— it’s a boy— baby— kissing? Now? Derek! Can’t you let me have one day?!"

Stiles lurches up, darts towards his friend, “It’s cool, bro, we’re saving the baby stuff for at least a year, today’s all about’chu.”

Scott beams dopily at him, glances at Derek, “I’m a dad.”

"Yeah," Derek grins back, "You are."

"Ugh," Scott pulls a face, "I can tell about half of your radiating happiness is about macking with my best friend."

"Shut up."

“ _You_  shut up.”

"You know, we might have to wait until you’re forty to have kids if you’re this immature now," Stiles teases. 

There’s a bang at the other end of the corridor, and Lydia falls out of a door, “I’m okay!” She flies towards them, face dusty and hair wild. “What I miss?”

"The baby is born, Derek and Stiles made out, I’m a dad!" Scott tells her. 

Lydia shrieks, throws her arms around his neck, “Congratulations!” She glances back at Stiles and Derek, “We’ll deal with  _you two_  tomorrow.”

Stiles scuffs his feet against Derek’s, grabs his hand impulsively, and Derek holds it tight, grins stupidly. He’s okay with waiting for the future, if it means his present is exactly like this.

 


	12. The One With All The Kissing

"I’ll see you later," Stiles murmurs softly to Derek, grabbing his bagel and standing from the table. 

Derek lifts his face up to wordlessly demand a kiss, and Stiles bends, kisses him sweetly. 

Behind them, Lydia lowers her water bottle, Erica stops halfway through her bite of banana, a piece of bagel  _falls_  from Scott’s mouth. 

"Uh," Stiles freezes, scrunches up his face and Derek shuts his eyes, trying not to panic.

"So," Stiles clears his throat, turns to Erica, "Good to see you this morning, Erica," he bends and kisses her before she can say anything. The banana drops to the floor, and she grabs his collar, makes it a good one. 

Derek grits his teeth, pointedly looks away. 

"Lydia!" Stiles advances on her, smacks a dramatic kiss to her lips. 

Lydia pulls away looking horrified, drinks the rest of her water in one. 

Derek remembers he should not be offended on Stiles’ behalf.  _He_  likes kissing Stiles, everyone else might not. Everyone else shouldn’t even get to! Dammit.

They really should have told everyone by now, but it’s so new, so special to him, so fucking precious, and if he fucks it up, he doesn’t want anyone to take sides, doesn’t want to lose Stiles. He’s so desperate to keep this one thing he has that isn’t part of their friend group, that’s just his and Stiles’. 

"Scotty—" Stiles says cheerfully, rounding the table and stalking towards him. 

Scott leaps up, waves his bagel at him, “You can have this if you don’t kiss me, dude.”

Stiles nods, snatches the bagel quickly and gives them all an awkward wink, “My plan worked! You always spread the cheese so much better than me. Thanks, bro,” and then he flies out of the door, face bright red.

"Well," Erica watches him leave, "That was new."

"I think, uh," Derek shrugs, "Must be something he picked up when we were in London."

"I wish he’d left it there," Lydia huffs, "Now my lip gloss is smudged."

"Oh, please, like you haven’t always been curious," Erica scoffs, "I enjoyed it."

Derek glares at her as Scott groans, sits back down at the table, “Thank god Allison wasn’t here.”

"I bet she’ll be disappointed," Erica smirks. 

Derek huffs, gets up to pout into the fridge for a minute. His phone buzzes, and he reads the text silently.

**dont worry i still like kissing u best ;)**

Derek pockets his phone feeling much better, flicks Erica’s banana peel at her and smiles at nothing all morning.


	13. The One With The Vows

Stiles scratches out _I like your butt the most out of all the butts in the universe_ , and sighs loudly. Scott glances up from the paper, looks back down at it. 

Stiles sighs again. 

Scott groans, folds the paper up, “Dude, seriously?”

"I don’t know how to be all— flowery about this shit, man. I just wanna marry the dude, not… list all the things I like about him."

Scott peers over Stiles’ crowded page of notes, clucks his tongue, “ _You’re the only person I ever want to have sex in an elevator with ever again. That time at Macy’s was awesome_. Stiles, if this is your idea of flowery… Derek is going to un-marry you on the spot.”

Stiles whips his head up, narrowing his eyes, “Have you seen his?”

"Mhm, a draft, he’s finishing them with Boyd," Scott avoids eye contact, "I’m not telling you what they said."

"Can’t you give me something?"

"Yes, they were very nice."

"Scott! You’re  _my_  best man, you’re supposed to be on  _my_  side.”

"He said some shit about you being his hero, how when he was at his very worst you never flinched away from him, you make him feel like he can do anything, and that he still can’t believe you picked him," Scott waves a dismissive hand in the air. "I dunno, romantic crap."

Stiles stares at him in horror, “That sounds awesome! I might fucking cry, dude!” He leaps up, hits Scott on the arm, “Derek is going to boss his fucking vows, and I’m going to crash and burn. He’s going to leave me at the altar!” 

"No, he won’t," Scott rolls his eyes, "He might love you more than you love him, man. He’s not going anywhere." Scott leans in conspiratorially, "He loves you as much as I love Allison."

"You and Allison aren’t even dating, right now!"

Scott huffs, “Yeah, but we will be, soon enough. I just need to—”

"Scott," Stiles snaps his fingers in his friend’s face. "I have helped you win Allison’s heart and then win it back, ten thousand times. Can you please help me like… make sure I keep Derek’s?"

"You’re being over dramatic, but fine," Scott shrugs, "Start with like… when you realised you were in love with him."

Stiles flops back down on the couch, “When you all found out.”

Scott pulls a face, “I didn’t find out, so much as see you  _begin to undress each other_ —”

"It wasn’t about that," Stiles cuts in, "Like, when Lydia and Erica were trying to screw with us, and Lydia, you know… got competitive and I just couldn’t… I didn’t want to win anything. I realised Derek was more important, the  _most_  important. It wasn’t about the sex.”

Scott snorts, and Stiles gives him a withering look. 

"Hey, we might have been drunk the first time, but I’ve been sober ever since, and it like… I dunno, it gets better every time."

"It’s not sex," Scott simpers, "It’s making—"

"Don’t, man, don’t knock it! It’s, you know, he makes me feel all special about it, about everything."

"Well," Scott knocks at Stiles’ hand with his foot, "Write that down."

"You make me feel all special and shit," Stiles lifts his eyebrows, "That isn’t exactly eloquent."

"He’ll get it." Scott watches him write, nods along, "Yeah, aw yeah that’s so sweet— hey, you guys nearly got married in Vegas?!"

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, “Ahh, yeah? It was spur of the moment, like, we were there, I knew he was the one.”

"What stopped you?"

"You and Allison staggering out of the damn chapel throwing plastic confetti at each other," Stiles shrugs as Scott flushes, "I wanted more than that with him, for him. Derek deserves the best."

Scott’s expression melts, “Dude, you really do love my brother.”

"Fucking yeah I do. I mean, the guy’s deathly wary of fire and he filled our apartment with candles when we got engaged," Stiles smiles at the memory, "I like… That was definitely the most romantic thing ever. For us," he glances at Scott, "I dunno if we’re the most normal when it comes to that department."

"Hey, man, that speech you gave at Thanksgiving with my folks was pretty damn romantic."

"That was only necessary because you blamed your baked days on me!"

"Heh, yeah, but Derek totally had heart eyes."

"Well, I had to say something, your mom and dad were so sure I was gonna break his heart." Stiles shrugs, "I would never."

"He was sure you would if he got fat again."

Stiles snorts, “Can you imagine? I’d love him if he weighed three hundred pounds, man. Besides, he’s not sexy cos of his abs,” Stiles’ gaze goes distant, “It’s like… when he talks, or when you get him to laugh, or this thing he does with his eyebrows that makes me wanna,” he bites his lip, exhales hard, “Yeah, climb him.”

Scott winces, “Put some of that down, but, what with your dad being at the ceremony I’d maybe avoid getting into what exactly makes you want to climb him.”

Stiles grins, “He  _knows.”_

"Did you tell him before me? About proposing?"

"Uh…"

"Because you know, you told Lydia first, right?" Scott’s tone is casual, but Stiles can see him pouting just a little. 

"Dude, I wanted to tell you. But, you can’t keep a secret to save your life!"

"I still think you should have technically asked me for his hand in marriage."

"Are you serious."

"Yes! I’m his brother!"

"You and Allison had sex the night we announced we were getting engaged! You stole Derek’s thunder! He would kill me in my sleep if I implied I needed your permission to marry him."

"Fair enough," Scott points at him, "But, if you hurt him."

Stiles tries not to laugh, “What, you’ll tickle me to death?”

"No, I’ll beat you."

"Okay, dude."

"I’m serious, Stiles."

"Sure."

"I would win in a fight between us."

"Uh huh."

"I am strong, dude, I will take you!"

"Scott, the last time we had a fight, you cried, I cried, and Derek had to buy us both ice cream. I’m pretty sure we were still teenagers."

Scott sighs happily, “I’m glad we stayed friends.”

"Me too," Stiles knocks their legs together, "Okay, so I’ve got the fact he loves me despite my loser best friend in here."

"Hey!"

“ _Kidding_ , but, I did put in some stuff about how glad I am we were friends first? You know, like, I’ve always felt so supported by him, and like he knows me so well, and gets me. As my friend, first. Like, he’s my lover and my friend. Is that— is that okay?”

Scott rests his chin on his hands, smiles at him. 

"Oh, shut up!"

"I’m so proud of you, man, you’re actually writing romantic stuff down."

"He deserves it, okay?! He never thinks he’s worth much, and he never thinks he should come first, and fucking hell, if I can’t say it at our damn wedding. If I can’t— can’t— put into words how much I love him and want to spend the rest of my life making him happy then… I don’t deserve him."

Scott grabs the pen off him, scrawls something down and nods, “That’s like the perfect vow, dude.”

"Really? I have enough?"

"Dude, I feel like I know your entire history with him through this."

Stiles smirks, “You don’t know about the time he got sick and tried to convince me otherwise—”

"Let’s keep it that way," Scott sticks his hands over his ears, grimaces, "Honestly, man, if you can get over the fact he’s a loser that has a dance routine with his brother, and that he’s super grumpy and has a label for his stapler and—"

"I happen to like all of those things," Stiles interrupts, "And, besides, you and me have a dance. We should do it at the wedding!"

"Fucking yes!"

They high five just as Derek’s letting himself into the apartment. Stiles shoves his vows into a drawer, and Derek quirks an eyebrow. 

“‘S’that?”

"Nothing you can know about yet," Stiles comes over to him, kisses him, "Hi, what you been up to?"

Derek shrugs casually, “Nothing much,” he slides his hands down to rest on Stiles’ waist, “Finished my vows with Boyd.”

"Yeah? You say nice things about me?"

"Maybe," Derek grins, leans forward to kiss him again, ducks to mouth at his neck. "It maybe got me thinking about us, and about that time after we’d just moved in together, how much I lo—"

"Hey!" Scott jumps up, hurries towards the door, "Don’t finish that until I’ve left, and also," he claps them both on the shoulder, looks between them fondly, "I am super happy for you guys. There is a lot of love here."

Derek blinks in surprise as Stiles nods at his friend, winks at him as he leaves. 

"Do I want to know?"

"Nope," Stiles gets his hands in Derek’s sweater, tugs him towards the bedroom, "What were you saying about how much you love me?"


	14. The One Where Everybody Finds Out

"So, Stiles," Erica leans up against the kitchen counter, smirks at Stiles "I’ve been thinking about that kiss between us a lot, recently."

Derek scowls through the crack in the door, knows Erica’s playing up to his jealous side. She’d caught him glowering at a woman asking for Stiles’ number the week before; and the smirk he’d not managed to hide when Stiles had said he was very much attached. The suspicious, almost  _knowing_  look she’d sent his way as Stiles had sat down— just a little too close to Derek, squirming around until he was half under Derek— had made it clear she was onto them. 

He wonders how the hell Allison found out. They’ve been subtle. At one point, Derek had half drowned hiding in the bath tub when Lydia had come in to ask if Stiles fancied chinese. Derek had discovered a most  _useful_  way of dictating his order underneath the bubbles. He’d had to make it up to Stiles later, moaning and groaning as he’d laid out naked on the bed, complaining about his poor, abused dick. Derek knows lots of ways to make him feel better, now. Not just with his tongue, either. He knows that Stiles likes his hair petted when he’s sleepy, likes to climb up into Derek’s lap, bury his face in Derek’s neck and sigh, long and contented when Derek pulls him close and continues with whatever he was doing, Stiles wrapped up in his arms. He’s learnt that Stiles takes great pride in making Derek laugh, actually likes hearing about Derek’s day, asks him about it in fact, and that being involved with Stiles makes Derek feel the most overwhelmed, and yet the most excited, most joyful, most loved, he ever has in his whole life. 

"Really?" Stiles’ awkward stammering brings him back to the moment, and he leans against the door. "You know, that was just a— a— London thing?"

"I thought as much," Erica coos, "But, I was thinking we could make it an  _us_  thing, as well.”

"I, uh, we’ve been friends for so long!"

"You invited me here."

When Derek peeks through the door, Erica’s twirling her hair between her fingers, pretending to pout at Stiles. 

"Don’t you want to see if we really connect," she flops down onto the counter again, makes her cleavage stick right in Stiles’ face. "I think I’ve got a lot to offer, and I  _know_  you have.”

"Really? I’m not all that great, honestly."

"Oh, I heard from a little birdy you’re amazing at phone sex," Erica kinks an eyebrow at him. "I never would have guessed."

Fuck.  _That’s_  how Allison found out. 

Derek feels his ears burn a little. He’s never been more open than he has with Stiles, and he’d said some things on the phone the other night that might have… been  _very_  dirty. Stiles had been a panting mess when they’d hung up and met in the hallway for a quick good night kiss.

"A little birdy, huh?" 

Derek knows that voice, that’s Stiles’ game voice. He looks up in time to see Stiles moving around the counter, lean into Erica’s space. 

"You know, I’m much better in person," Stiles murmurs, brushing his nose up against Erica’s. That is Derek’s  _favorite_  Stiles Seduction technique. He loves knowing they’re about to kiss, and that Stiles is teasing him about it, making him wait, his stomach curling with anticipation before their lips touch.

Suddenly, things are feeling a little too real. Derek’s knuckles go white where they’re clinging to the door frame, and he sort of wishes they hadn’t started this damn game of chicken. He doesn’t actually want to watch Stiles flirting with someone else, or looking at someone else with the kind of intensity he’s been looking at Derek with, or even— god— putting an actual move he’s used on Derek on someone else.  

Erica takes a step back, and Stiles’ eyes flash triumphantly. Derek breathes out a sigh of relief. 

As if having seen Stiles’ expression, though, Erica’s own face goes determined, and she drapes herself against the fridge, beckons Stiles close. 

"Me too, I think we should find out if we can be better,  _together_.”

"I agree," Stiles says stiltedly. 

"Then come here," Erica breathes out. "Come and get me."

"I’m going to."

"Right now."

"Yes, I’m— I’m going to take your hand."

"Oh, your fingers are  _long_.”

Derek clenches his jaw. 

"I… you smell nice."

"I do? It’s all natural, just for you. Do you like it?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I really like this minty stuff that makes Der— people’s hair smell like peppermint; it’s kinda refreshing and…" Stiles’ eyes go wide as Erica begins to smirk, "I mean, we should get some, and use it  _together_.”

Erica blatantly rolls her eyes, grabs hold of Stiles’ sweater, “We can have all the showers in the world, honey, just… Kiss me!”

"Okay," Stiles lets out a breath, hands flailing as they land either side of Erica’s head against the fridge. "Uh, I’m gonna— just—"

He tips his head to the side, begins to lean in as Erica ducks her face and knocks his nose with her forehead. 

"Sorry," she says in a strangled voice, "I’m nervous."

"Me too," Stiles laughs, "Going from friends to more is always… A big thing. But, sometimes it can be really… wonderful. Worth it.  _So_  worth it.”

Erica’s face crumples and she sighs, “Fuck, just— fucking kiss me, Stiles!”

"You kiss  _me!_ ”

"Try and stop me!"

"I’m just gonna—" Stiles presses into her, jerkily moving in to press their mouths together, and Derek digs his nails into the door. 

After a split second, however, Stiles throws himself away from Erica, wiping his mouth, “Alright, I can’t do it! I can’t kiss you, or be more than friends with you!”

"Ha!" Erica points at him, scrubbing at her own mouth quickly, "And, why not?"

"Because I’m doing that with Derek, already, and it’s big and fucking terrifying, but you can’t— you can’t put me off, okay? I’m— I’m in love with him. I love him and you can’t talk me out of it!"

Derek slams the bathroom door open just as Allison and Lydia come flying into the apartment. 

Erica’s beaming at him, but Derek doesn’t really notice, eyes on Stiles. 

"You—"

Stiles spins from where he’d been facing Erica, meets Derek’s gaze and gives him a hopeful smile. 

"Yeah, yeah, Derek, I do," he strides over to him, grabs his hand, "I love you."

Derek swallows, squeezes his hand, “I love you, too.”

Stiles’ face lights up, and he’s beautiful and earnest and Derek is so ready for this to be real, for everyone to know, for him to wake up seeing Stiles ever day. 

"I love you," he says again, incredulous and  _trusting_. 

Stiles darts forward and kisses him passionately. 

Allison  _aw’s_  and Lydia mutters  _finally_ , collapsing on a bar stool behind them. 

Derek pulls away after a moment, rubs his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip, “Last time you taste like strawberry lip gloss, please.”

"Only yours from now on," Stiles promises, a teasing glint in his eye. 

"I’ll lend you some peppermint flavored stuff," Erica pipes up innocently. 

Derek flips her off, moves to kiss Stiles again. 

"Dibs on not telling Scott," Allison says suddenly. 

Stiles breaks away from Derek, groans, “Oh,  _fuck_.”

 


	15. The One With The List

"Afternoon, oh  _special_  friend of mine,” Stiles snickers at his own nickname, grins as he lets himself into Derek’s apartment.

Derek leaps up from his chair, snatches the list he’s been making up from the chair arm and shoves it behind his back.

"Hi!"

Stiles narrows his eyes, drops his wallet on the kitchen counter, tips his head to one side, “What’chu doin’?”

"I was.. uh… reading," Derek begins edging towards the dresser, hoping the top drawer’s in reach. 

"Mhm, what were you reading?" Stiles takes a step towards him, and Derek glances guiltily at the empty living room table. Damn his habit of clearing up after himself. 

"Uh, the paper?"

"Liar!" Stiles grabs the ketchup up from the counter, tosses it just to Derek’s right and Derek dives for it in a panic. It  _cannot_  go over the couch, he  _just_  cleaned it! Although, he could maybe do with re-upholstering, anyway—

"Ha!" Stiles snatches the paper from his other hand as he’s distracted. 

Derek glowers at him, “Asshole.”

"The top was on, baby, and if you can’t help but worry about big ass ketchup stains on your couch," Stiles trails off as he begins reading what Derek’s been writing. "What is this?"

"It’s nothing—" Derek tries to snatch it back, and Stiles darts backwards, leaps over the couch.

"Is this a pros and cons list? About me?"

"No, not  _exactly_.”

"Pro; he’ll be here all the time, Con; he’ll leave his shit lying around. Pro; bed won’t get cold. Con; will have to double amount of times we wash sheets— environmentally unfriendly. Pro; we’ll have time for a lot more sex. Con; what if dick gets sex fatigue and he leaves me for someone with better dick. Pro; the apartment will stop feeling weird and crap when he leaves. Con; he might think I am clingy. Pro; we can have breakfast together every day. Con; he will discover I have a strict routine— might think I am boring—"

"Just give me the damn—"

“ _Pro_ ; we can come to an agreement about the DVR. Con; I will lose and end up watching a fuck ton of hockey— hockey versus Stiles. Pro; he’ll always be there when I come home. Con; he could get sick of me— we could fight more. Pro; make up sex. Con; no downside to make up sex.”

Stiles lowers the paper, arches an eyebrow at Derek, “I’m thinking it might be a while before we discover the joys of make up sex.”

"I’m sorry," Derek blurts out, "I just…"

"You don’t even have any actual cons about me on here, dude," Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. "Con; I’m talkative and I know you like it quiet sometimes."

"I can be loud, too," Derek argues. 

“ _Con_ ; I’m selfish, only child, remember? And, I don’t share well— you, my space, my food, my—”

"I don’t share, either, dumbass, I grew up with Scott! I had to fight for everything!"

"Con; my best friend is your brother."

"He’s okay in small doses," Derek argues begrudgingly. 

"Con; I’m pissed you didn’t tell me you were thinking of asking me to move in with you, and you won’t let me be pissed because you keep saying nice things!"

"Fine," Derek strides towards him, snatches the list out of his hands and scrunches it up. "Con; you think you’re always right, and it drives me nuts. You’re a poor loser. You’re a confusing mix of egotistical and insecure. You take up more than half the bed, my bed, and you kick! You never back down from a fight, and you’re constantly deflecting,  _constantly_ trying to make the situation comical when I sometimes need you to take things seriously!”

"You turn the smallest thing into a competition," Stiles jabs a finger into Derek’s chest, "You panic that I’m going to run and leave you at the slightest hiccough and it stresses me the fuck out. You’re obsessive over the smallest shit, and you never let anything go!"

Derek brandishes the creased paper in his face, “Do you want me to write any of this down?”

"No! I want you to ask me to move in with you like a normal person and we can deal with all of this together! Derek, I already know about your routine! Why d’you think I wait till you’ve had coffee to say anything more than good morning?! I  _like_  your routine! It gives me structure. I’ve never had structure before! And, I’m not going to leave you for someone with a better dick, I like yours! And, only yours! I might have been flaky in the past, okay. I might not have been the best at relationships, or with you, but I am trying, I am all in! You can’t use a pros and cons list to decide if I am worth your time, or not, you just have to know,” Stiles blinks at him, ducks his head, “If you don’t, then, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this whole—” he gestures between them, “Thing.”

"No," Derek breathes out quickly, "No, I want to do this… thing with you, Stiles. I just…" He grimaces, "I’m not good at getting what I want and… knowing how to keep it."

"Ask," Stiles says immediately. "Say something. Remember that I will never find you boring, you gigantic environment loving nerd. And, I don’t like leaving here, either. I… my bed is  _always_  cold.”

"Well, your apartment smells," Derek shrugs.

"I know," Stiles grins, "Why’d you think I spend so much time here? It’s sure as hell not for the company."

Derek glares at him, and Stiles laughs, grabs the paper off him and tosses it in the trash. 

"Derek," he throws his arms around Derek’s neck. "Were you gonna ask me something important, here, or do you need a little more time making up adoring pros and cons about me. That are terrible, and biased, and wouldn’t have actually helped you make up your mind."

Derek rolls his eyes, “I’m beginning to think I don’t have a question at all.”

"Jerk, ask me!"

"Christ, fine, Stiles, you wanna move in with me?"

"Yes," Stiles nods eagerly, and then smiles, "And, we can go halves on the DVR. I’m not that big of a hockey fan, it’s just fun to watch you scoff at all the players falling over."

"They have no balance!"

"We could argue about hockey player, or we  _could_  go have make up sex, in  _our_  bedroom.”

"You make a good point," Derek mumbles against Stiles’ lips. 

Stiles grins, wiggles his eyebrows, “I have a whole list of points for stuff we can do in there, too. No cons necessary. You think your dick can handle it?”

Derek huffs, follows him into  _their_  bedroom, regardless.

 


	16. The One Where Stiles Moves In

"So,” Isaac eyes the possible new tenant warily from where he’s examining Boyd’s painting on the wall. “Do you have any questions for us?”

Stiles turns and beams at him, Derek feels it like a punch to the gut. “Nah, I don’t think so. You say it’s three hundred a month?”

“Three fifty,” Derek corrects flatly.

Boyd elbows him in the stomach. “Three hundred, plus we have an account you can put money in for bills and shit.”

Stiles glances from Derek to Boyd, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You want me to pay three twenty five, would that make you feel better?”

Derek scowls as Boyd and Isaac both grin. “We have really noisy neighbors.”

“’S’cool, my best friend and his girlfriend used to have ridiculously loud sex in the room next to me,” Stiles smirks ruefully.

“You can’t smoke.”

Stiles waves his hands around. “I got better things to do with these than stain them yellow.”

“Boyd’s paints make the place smell.”

“Hey!” Boyd objects crossly. “No more than your dumbass sports gear stinks up the bathroom.”

“I love the smell of oils, and canvas,” Stiles’ eyes light up appealing and Derek looks away. “Hey, do you have any more pieces around? That one’s awesome,” he adds, waving to the sea scene on the wall by the tv.

“ _I love him_ ,” Boyd murmurs before nodding at his bedroom. “Yeah, but it’s messy as shit in my room.”

Stiles snorts. “Dude, I’m like the messiest person alive.”

“You can’t be leaving your shit lying around,” Derek interrupts. “We like it tidy in the living room.”

Over Boyd’s shoulder Stiles lifts an eyebrow at him, and it should not, repeat, it should not be as sexy as it is. “I think I’ll manage.”

_Dammit_.

*

Stiles’ shoes are in the mix of boots and sneakers when Derek gets home a week later. There’s also an unfamiliar green hoodie on the pegs, a set of keys in the bowl with Isaac’s. His stomach clenches up. The new agreements were signed, Stiles long fingers tantalizingly curled round a pen, his eyes bright and excited as Isaac clapped a hand on his shoulder and declared him officially one of them. Derek had lifted his beer casually and Stiles had grinned back at him. Everything about him is  _easy_ , languid, graceful in ways he shouldn’t be. He makes something in Derek ache. And he can’t do a damn thing about it.

If they’d met in a bar, Derek would have been all over it in ten seconds flat. He would have wanted that mouth on him, wanted to clutch at those broad shoulder, maybe spend a couple of hours arguing about the Mets and why they suck but Stiles doesn’t seem to see it, and then start all over again with the touching.

He’d opened the door to Stiles and felt his stomach drop. Stiles was all sincere smiles, and deep, brown eyes. He’d been going to lie, say he was sorry but the room was taken, would Stiles like to see Derek’s room and more specifically Derek’s bed, though? But, Isaac had bounded over, introduced them all, and it was too late to say anything.

To be fair, Stiles was by far the most appealing applicant of the bunch for Jackson’s old room.

He’s just going to test Derek’s ability to remain friendly, and not fuck the new guy senseless and ruin everything.

“Yo,” Boyd greets him as he heads into the kitchen, swings open the fridge.

“Hey.”

“Good day?”

Derek shrugs, opens his mouth to respond when Stiles ambles into the room in sweats, and nothing else.

“Hey man.”

He thinks he makes a noise of acknowledgement, drags his eyes from Stiles’ chest hastily and scowls down at his beer.

“You finish unpacking?”

Stiles sits at the table next to Boyd, nods as he rests his head on his arms. “Yeah, fuck I had more stuff than I thought. I think, maybe I left some stuff at Scott’s, though.”

Derek desperately wants to ask who Scott is. Wants to know if they were together, if Stiles is even into guys, if this Scott character needs beating up for treating Stiles wrong, instead he holds his tongue and sticks his feet next to Stiles’ head on the table.

“Dude, I eat here,” Boyd complains.

Derek flashes him a shit eating grin and Boyd rolls his eyes, grabs his sweater.

“Aight, I’m going to meet Erica, don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

Stiles waves a hand, warns that he can’t promise anything and Derek scoffs. Stiles lifts his head to appraise him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says lightly.

Stiles stares at him for a moment longer and then stands, grabs hold of Derek’s ankle for support as he does so. His hand is warm and huge and fuck, his fingers are  _long_.

“Gonna crash,” he says around a yawn, letting go of Derek and leaving him feeling cold. “Later.”

Derek grunts, determinedly does not watch Stiles’ ass as he disappears into his room and shuts the door.

Isaac finds him on the couch some four hours later and threatens to draw on his face if he doesn’t go to sleep. He showers first, makes himself think about anything but Stiles when he jerks off. He fails, dramatically, thinking about Stiles’ eyes fluttering shut or being huge and expressive when he comes.

It’s not fucking fair.

The gods are freaking laughing at him when he opens the bathroom door and Stiles is stretching against the door frame, waiting to use the shower himself. He doesn’t look any less hot when he’s sleepy. In fact, he looks dangerously close to a dumb word like  _adorable_.

Derek is angry about  _everything_. How  _dare_  Stiles smile sleepily at him and make his stomach flutter.

*

Stiles sleeps stretched out everywhere. Half naked on the couch. Head in his arms on the kitchen table. In Boyd’s room. On one terrible evening when nobody else was in, he padded into Derek’s room and complained he was lonely. When Derek had grudgingly allowed him to sit in whilst Derek made notes on one of his students’ thesis’, Stiles had fallen asleep spread out over his damn bed.

It had been a dark, uncomfortable evening on the couch for Derek.

*

Derek walks into the living room, and stops in the doorway. Stiles is on the couch with a dark haired guy, and they’re leaning into one another like they’re about to kiss. Derek hadn’t known his stomach could drop so far so fast.

At the last second, Stiles jerks away laughing. Derek frowns as the other guy crows, jumps up on the couch.

“Dude! Watch your feet, Derek’ll—Derek!” Stiles spots him, smiles sheepishly.

“Derek will what?” Derek snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

“Oh,” the new guy sits down quickly, elbows Stiles. “Okay, I get it.”

“Shut up,” Stiles hisses, before looking back at Derek, “Derek’ll get mad my best friend was leapin’ all over the couch after he’s cleaned it.”

“God,” new guy flops back into the couch cushions. “You’re so lucky you have someone that cleans stuff like that.”

Stiles winks at Derek, “Don’t I know it.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “It’s only because you don’t seem to know how.”

“Hey, I volunteered the first day I was here, dude. You’re the one that told me I was doing it wrong.”

New guy begins guffawing and Derek glowers at him, “Sorry, but how do you clean a couch wrong?”

“He was trying to use windex,” Derek explains flatly.

“Aw, man, I miss you,” the guy smiles fondly at Stiles, and Derek can feel his heart pick up in a panic again as Stiles smiles back.

“You’re the one that decided to shack up with your one and only.”

“Yeah, she is pretty great.”

“Hey Derek, this is my best friend Scott, by the way.”

And, oh, Derek suddenly feels a whole lot warmer everywhere.

“You two still practice kissing or something?”

Scott laughs, “No, we were playing chicken for who gets the Nintendo sixty-four. We bought it together when we were nine, and it’s lived with us both ever since.”

“Please,” Stiles clutches his hands together, “I’ll do anything.”

“Except kiss me,” Scott tuts, “What kind of best friend are you, dude?”

“I have standards,” Stiles teases, and Scott elbows him.

“You?” Derek interrupts, “Standards? The person that eats over the sink to save on having to wash up?”

“I know you don’t like crumbs,” Stiles simpers up at him.

Derek cuffs him over the head, sits down next to them, “’S’Isaac or Boyd about?”

“No, why?”

Derek shrugs, “Was just thinkin’ about getting something to eat at the diner downstairs.”

“Ace, we’ll do that with you—” Stiles hesitates, “Unless, you wanna do it alone?”

“No one ever really wants to do it alone,” Scott says mildly, and Stiles falls into peals of laughter, knocking Derek in the ribs as he does so.

Derek finds himself smiling down at him, catches Scott’s eye over his head and clears his throat, looks away. Pretends Scott wasn’t giving him a very  _thoughtful_  look.

“I don’t mind if you join me, as long as neither of you try to play kiss chicken over the bill.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles grins, “I’d let you win, any day.”

Derek feels his ears heat up, tugs at his shirt sleeves, aware that Stiles is only teasing, only flirting for the hell of it, and trying not to let it affect his damn knees.

“Well, I’m not a cheap date, so, you might want to rethink that one.”

“Never,” Stiles declares dramatically before heading into his room.

Derek tries and fails to watch him go.

Scott nods at him as the door closes, “He says you guys have been really cool.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Scott narrows his eyes at him, “Talks about  _you_  a lot.”

“Mhm.”

“Says you’re nice to live with.”

Derek scoffs, “Isaac is a nightmare to live with, he roams the apartment at four am when he can’t sleep, and Boyd paints to Slipknot and Metallica.”

Scott chuckles, “Stiles loves that shit, so I doubt it bothers him. Besides,” Scott stands, smiles amiably at him, “I meant you. I think he’s taken a real shine to you.”

Derek blinks at him, feels suddenly a little ashamed. He hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to be welcoming to Stiles. In his panic about being attracted to him, and keeping him at arm’s length, he’s probably spent the least amount of time with him, been the coolest of all three of them towards him.

“I… yeah,” he swallows, “Stiles is great.”

“Ha!” Stiles flies back into the living room, points at him, “I’m gonna remember you said that, the next time you’re bitching about me leaving my shit around, or not closing the window properly.”

“You leave the whole apartment open to theft!”

“We live nineteen stories up!”

“Nevertheless,” Derek grumbles, grabbing his jacket and following Stiles to the door. “Don’t come crying to me if someone steals your damn Nintendo.”

“I won’t,” Stiles pouts, “Scotty won the chicken game, I am officially out a Nintendo, and not being paid for another four weeks.” He sighs dramatically, and Scott and Derek both roll their eyes.

*

Derek wouldn’t admit it on pain of death, but when Stiles comes home the next day and sees Boyd and Isaac exclaiming over how cool it is they finally own a Nintendo 64 again, the look on his face is worth the hunt around the city for it.

He shrugs it off, says he used Stiles’ rent on it, and that it was high time he schooled them all at Mario Karts. But, he hopes Stiles gets the message. He’s trying to be a little more welcoming.

Even if it is torture watching Stiles stretch this way and that, throw his limbs all over Derek, and generally be an appealing mess on the couch every night when they play.

*

“Hey!” Stiles lets himself into the apartment, smiles brightly at them all.

Boyd jerks off his chair, and Isaac yells.

Derek scrapes his own chair back, points at Stiles’ hand, “Why the  _fuck_  do you have a human head?”

“What, this?” Stiles looks down at it as if surprised to see it. “ _Oh_ ,” realization seems to dawn on him. “No wonder nobody wanted to sit next to me on the subway.”

Derek snorts, still eyeing the head with trepidation.

“It’s fake,” Stiles waves it around, and Isaac grimaces, grabs his fork.

“Put it away, dude!”

“Sorry!” Stiles pushes open his door, tosses the head inside. “It’s from the props department. I promised I’d fix it up for tomorrow. I told you I liked the smell of paint,” he adds to Boyd, “I work around it twenty four seven. I’m in horror movie prop making.”

“You… are  _weird_ ,” Boyd shakes his head. “But, I’m curious to see it, now I know it’s not real.”

Stiles smirks, “What the hell were you all gonna do if it was?”

“Set Derek on you,” Isaac huffs.

“Oh, please, he’s wanted to be on me since day one,” Stiles dismisses airily, and then disappears into his room before Derek can argue.

*

Derek’s just about had it with his god damn class. None of them know a thing about  _The Clouds_. He might as well be reading synopsis’ for the play printed straight from Wikipedia. Stiles and Boyd are playing Snap in front of the television, and Derek drops the latest terrible essay to the side, watches Stiles’ hands dance around cards, the way he shouts nervously when Boyd catches him, and falls back laughing when he’s startled.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until someone’s settling on the couch next to him.

Stiles gives him a soft smile, “You mind if I watch this?”

Derek rubs his eyes, notices someone’s draped the throw they keep on the back of the couch over him, and squints at the television. “What is it?”

“Sharnado.”

“Jesus,” he groans, and Stiles laughs wickedly.

“Dude, I promise it’s great.”

“I need alcohol for this.”

Stiles waves two beers in the air, passes him one, “Take a sip every time the same shark flies past the camera; you’ll be drunk in about eleven minutes.”

“More like take a sip every time there’s a shitty switch from green screen to actual live footage,” Derek mutters.

“So, you  _have_  seen this before?!”

Derek nods, shifting a little so that his legs can stretch out, and Stiles grabs his feet, places them in his lap. Derek gives him a grateful look.

“When it came out, Isaac got the dvd and insisted we get high and watch it.”

Stiles make a show of gagging on his beer, “ _You_. Got high.”

“Yes,” Derek kicks him in the thigh, and Stiles jerks, catches his foot and holds him still, staring at him incredulously. Derek feels his cheeks flush, “Ass, what’s the face for?”

“I just can’t imagine it,” Stiles snickers, “Are you more smiley?”

“No,” Derek says flatly, “I never do that.”

Stiles deliberately drags his fingers up the arch of Derek’s foot, and he hisses, feels himself laugh despite how much the action makes him want very  _different_  things.

“Stiles, don’t!”

“I was just checkin’,” Stiles waves his beer at his face. “Look at that, a smile.”

Derek scowls, “I’m ticklish, I can’t help it.”

“It’s not a weakness, moron,” Stiles dips his fingers into Derek’s ribs, and Derek actually  _squawks_.

“Stiles!”

“Oh my god! Do that again, make that noise again.”

“No, Stiles, dammit,” Derek wrestles with him briefly, grabs hold of his wrists and twists so that Stiles is pinned beneath him, panting and still smiling widely.

“Uh oh,” Stiles presses his lips together, squirms a little and Derek resists the urge to press down into him, kiss his stupid smiley mouth senseless.

Instead, he rolls his eyes, squeezes Stiles’ wrists sharply, “You gonna pack it in and watch the movie, or you want me to sit on you all night?”

“Oh,  _come on_ ,” Stiles groans, “Dude, that’s just not a fair question.”

Derek clenches his jaw, flops back to sit on Stiles’ legs rather than his chest, still manages to tangle their fingers for a moment longer than necessary.

“Sit still,” he warns.

“Yessir.”

“Shut it.”

Stiles grins again, kicks his feet up into Derek’s lap and presses play on the movie.

Derek doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes to Isaac cooing over where he and Stiles are pressed together on the couch. He vaults out of the living room before Stiles can wake and realize Derek was hard against his hip. The last thing he needs is to actually terrify the guy into leaving when he’s just winning him round on Derek being  _nice_.

*

“Your fish are dead,” Derek tells Stiles when he comes in from the gym a few days later. Regrets his tone; it wasn’t at all sympathetic. Derek doesn’t like fish much. They don’t  _do_  anything. The just sit there  _judging_ you all day.

“Awww, fuck,” Stiles’ face drops, “When?”

Derek arches an eyebrow, “I don’t know, I didn’t call time of death.”

Stiles bares his teeth at him, “Funny.”

“Were you attached?” Derek edges towards him casually, “Do you… need a hug?”

“Oh fuck off,” Stiles snaps, glaring down at the fish bowl. “They weren’t mine.”

“Do you actually own  _anything_ , or just steal things from movie sets and… fish?”

“Is that your less than subtle attempt to invite yourself into my bedroom and see?” Stiles looks up at him, suddenly much more interested in Derek than the fish. Derek goes hot under the collar.

“I—”

“C’mon,” Stiles grabs his wrist, tugs him into his bedroom, “ _This_  is my room.”

“I can see that, Stiles.”

“Do you want a tour?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “Bed’s that way.”

Derek resolutely does not look towards the large looking bed, or at the collection of photographs Stiles has on the wall. He does hum in surprise when he spots Stiles’ large comic collection.

“Oh, those?” Stiles darts towards them, points at Derek, “Deadpool or Spiderman?”

Derek smirks, “Both.”

“Atta boy,” Stiles throws himself on the bed, looks up at Derek, “So, you wanna hang out? You’ve not been in here before, you might need to acclimatize.”

Derek snorts, but sits on the bed gingerly, tries not to accidentally touch Stiles anywhere. It might perhaps make him snap and launch himself at him.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s just their new roommate. A nice, handsome, insanely long limbed, enticingly mouthy, annoying, god damn beautiful roommate.

Derek flops back on the bed and sighs. Stiles pats his shoulder.

“You sad about my fish, too?”

“Oh, shut up! I thought they weren’t your fish, anyway.”

“They weren’t,” Stiles sighs, “They were Lydia’s.”

Derek swallows hard, “Lydia’s?”

Stiles shoots him a wry look, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth briefly, “Yeah, a friend of mine.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

“Did she not want them anymore?”

“Nah, she and her boyfriend went out of town for a bit.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Derek rolls onto his side, looks over at him.

“Stiles.”

Stiles exhales shakily, looks up at him, “Yeah?”

“’M’sorry your fish died.”

Stiles blinks a few times, expression going incredulous before he nods, twists until he’s looking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, me too.”

Derek feels as though he’s missed something, waits for Stiles to say something else. When he doesn’t, he rubs his nose, fidgets around until he drops his hand next to Stiles’, darts his pinky out to brush up against Stiles’ own.

Stiles hums loudly, hooks his finger around Derek’s, continues to look at the ceiling.

“Pretty sure my bedroom back home when I was a teenager saw more action than this,” he says after a moment.

Derek snorts, squeezes his finger tightly.

At some point, they both drift off, and when Derek wakes next, Stiles’ face is inches from his own. He is ridiculously beautiful close up, all long eyelashes and sculpted cheekbones. Derek brushes his thumb along one of them, and Stiles yawns, shuffles into him.

Derek melts into it, throws an arm around his waist for good measure. It’s in the interest of safety, really; Stiles is a kicker.

*

Stiles whisks around from the counter dramatically, pours eggs onto Boyd, Isaac and Derek’s plates.

“Eggs a la Stiles,” he declares.

Derek pokes at the scrambled eggs dubiously, “They don’t look any different to normal eggs.”

“Oh, shut up, grumpy and try them,” Stiles chides, settling in next to him and pressing their knees together.

Derek spends a good minute and a half trying to scrape egg onto his fork whilst simultaneously distracted by Stiles’ strong feeling thigh against his own.

“Mmm,” Isaac nods enthusiastically, “’S’good.”

“’S’less good when we can see it in your mouth,” Boyd snarks, shovelling his own food down.

Isaac flicks a peppercorn at him, Boyd drops a piece of ice in Isaac’s OJ.

“Dude! You know I hate ice!”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupts, “What’s wrong with ice? Ice is good, man.”

“Hurts my teeth,” Isaac pouts, “Ask Derek, he’ll tell you.”

Derek shrugs, shakes his head, “Don’t get me involved in this.”

“But, we should get your teeth involved,” Stiles smiles around his glass, “They’re cute teeth, you know.”

“Hey,” Boyd points his fork at him, “Makin’ us breakfast is one thing, but don’t go trynna butter him up to get out of rent tomorrow.”

Stiles laughs, scratches the back of his neck, “That wasn’t actually what I was—I gotta jet,” he says as he glances at his watch suddenly. He stands, claps Derek firmly on the shoulder, and then flies out of the room.

Isaac clucks his tongue at Boyd.

“What?”

“Moron, he was flirting.”

“He was not.”

“He was,” Isaac points at them both, “Mark my words.”

Boyd sighs, digs into his eggs again, “The boy’s got good kitchen skills, and no game if that’s what he’s going for.”

Derek puts his own fork down, “Wait, you think Stiles—”

“Yes,” Isaac cuts in immediately, “From like, the moment we all met and he watched your ass give the tour of our apartment rather than any of us.”

“He did no—”

“Do you mind?” Boyd interrupts, “I’m eating. I don’t wanna talk about your ass, right now. Especially as to whether or not Stilinski wants to plough it.”

Derek chokes on his juice, and Isaac falls around laughing.

“Shut up,” Derek hisses, “It’s not funny; it’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s nice,” Isaac sighs, pretends to clutch at his chest, “To fall for the boy next door,  _literally_.”

“Fuck off; we have not…  _fallen_  for each other.”

“So, you just sleep in his room like four nights a week because…”

“It just happens! We hang out in there, I get tired, I fall asleep.”

“You won’t sleep in my room,” Boyd pretends to pout, stands and drops his plate in the sink. “Neither of us mind, dude. In fact, if you could make a move before the weekend’s up, Isaac owes me twenty bucks.”

“No, no,” Isaac leaps in, “Wait, wait like a month, dude. Guys like it when you take it slow.”

“You’ve been taking it slow since he got here, he looks like he’s one step away from getting a neon sign.”

“Let him get a neon sign, you like romantic gestures.”

“No, you should—”

“Enough!” Derek stands himself, glares at them both, “Are you fucking with me?”

“No,” Isaac rolls his eyes, “We’re being supportive. This is how we’ve been supportive since we were in kindergarten, aren’t you used to it yet?”

“I must’ve missed the memo that ribbing the shit out me meant you were being kind and caring friends,” Derek snaps.

“Liar,” Boyd scoffs, “That’s how we do it.”

“Fine,” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, “You really don’t care that we all live together, and that if Stiles and I were to even—he doesn’t even—”

“Denial is one thing, but flat out obtuse is not a good look for you.”

“Fine!” Derek stalks out of the kitchen, “I’ll have really loud sex with him later, just to see the damn look on your faces.”

“I would hope we wouldn’t be anywhere close enough for you to  _see_  our faces,” Boyd replies mildly.

Derek slams the bathroom door.

*

“Leave me alone!”

“You asked for it.”

“Derek, I’m the new guy, you’re supposed to be nice to me!”

“You’re not the new guy anymore,” Derek fires off three more red shells and feels headily satisfied as they all hit Stiles’ cart. Stiles screeches, half sitting on Derek as he moves with the controller, trying to get Yoshi back on the track.

“I fucking hate you,” he huffs out as the race ends, and he trails in last.

“Don’t hate the player,” Derek says smugly, starting up a new game but fumbling on the start when Stiles leans over him to grab his beer.

“That kind of talk is beneath you,” Stiles smirks, inches from his face.

“ _You’re_  beneath me,” Derek snarks back.

“That doesn’t even make sense! And in actuality,” Stiles bounces around on Derek’s leg. “I’m on top,” he wiggles his eyebrows at Derek.

Derek’s cart flies into the wall and he scowls as Mario falls into sixth place.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I had no idea talking about my positioning would distract you so much.”

“Would you just—” Derek elbows Stiles in the solar plexus and Stiles yells, leaps to his feet to stay in the lead.

His ass is right in Derek’s god damn face.

“Ha!” Stiles spins around, shooting his arms into the air and his tee stretches up leaving Derek with a glorious view of his stomach. “In your face!”

“You  _are_  in my face,” Derek snarks, smacking his bare stomach as he stands, moves towards the kitchen.

“You’re a sore loser,” Stiles jibes, darting after him and patting Derek on the back as he hovers over his shoulder. “You gonna make a sandwich, there?”

Derek sighs, places the chicken on the side, “Why, is there some sort of winner’s dibs I don’t know about going on?”

“Nope,” Stiles smirks, “Although, if we play again I bet I can think of something worth playing for.”

Derek gives him a considering look, leans against the fridge and folds him arms, “Alright, like what?”

Stiles shrugs, “I get first shot of the shower in the morning.”

“Isaac has that, already; he won in a poker game last year.”

“I mean before  _you_ ,” Stiles corrects. “You use so much hot water, man. What do you even do in there?”

Derek smirks, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Stiles cocks his head to one side, eyes mischievous as he looks at Derek, “I probably would.”

Derek’s mouth falls open as Stiles grabs a piece of chicken, saunters back into the living room and resumes play without him.

“Hey, cheating!”

“You were taking too long.”

“Some people happen to like longevity, not that you’d know much about that at  _twenty three.”_

“Hey,  _old man_ , I have stamina,” Stiles fires off a blue shell and Derek curses as it sails right for him. “So, what  _are_  we playing for?”

“If I win, you have to clean the bathroom for a month.”

“Won’t it offend your delicate sensibilities if I don’t do it to a high enough standard?”

Derek grins, “Do you do anything to a particularly high standard?”

“Wouldn’t  _you_  like to know,” Stiles echoes him from before, smirking at the television when Derek glances over at him.

“Smart ass.”

“Mhm, so if I win, what do I get?”

“I don’t know,” Derek whizzes through to the final lap, “What do you want?”

“I dunno, I’m down for loser blowing the winner on the couch, for starters,” Stiles says casually. “Although, I’m not sure I’d see myself as a loser either way, there.”

Derek’s cart shoots into the damn lake, and he whips around to look at Stiles, “What?”

Stiles is still concentrating on the tv, but he grins, bites on his bottom lip as he sails through the finish line, “Oh no,” he puts his controller down, throws his arms behind his head and wiggles his eyebrows at Derek. “Look at that.”

“You—you  _played_  me?”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong, dude, I wanna be all up on you and your—” Stiles gestures at him, “Everything. The fact admitting it meant I won is just a bonus.” He smiles winningly at Derek, scratches his chin, “Cos even when you’re super moody first thing in the morning, you still put extra bread in the toaster for me, and I  _know_  it’s you that makes sure I have a blanket when I crash out on the couch at dumb o’clock in the morning.”

Derek opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, coughs, “That’s Isaac.”

“It is  _not_ ,” Stiles laughs, presses their thighs together. “Look, man, I’m just saying,” he peeks up at Derek through his lashes. “That’s how  _I_  feel.”

Fuck everything.

“I—we live together,” Derek tries faintly.

“Makes deciding whose place to go to a whole lot easier.”

“I’m older than you.”

“So? Apparently I like ‘em mature and intense. Even if you’re not actually that mature, what with the terrible smack talk and the ticklishness and the fact that you—”

Derek gets a fist in his shirt, half drags him into his lap and kisses him hard. Stiles gets with the program immediately, shifting to spread his thighs either side of Derek’s waist, pressing him into the back of the couch as he kisses him back fervently.

Eventually, they break apart, and Stiles huffs out a laugh, runs his fingers through Derek’s hair and then tugs, makes Derek look up at him. He hovers over Derek’s mouth, barely brushes their lips together, “So, you don’t hate me.”

“No,” Derek breathes out, fingers splaying up his sides and scraping gently down. “Never.”

“You totally acted like you did to start with you know.”

“Wanted you,” Derek grits out, tries to push up to kiss him again and Stiles jerks backwards teasingly.

“And?”

“Didn’t want to complicate things.”

“But, now?”

Derek scowls, wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and rolls them to the side, shoves Stiles back onto the couch and stretches out over him.

“I didn’t stop wanting you. It just got bigger.”

“I’ll say,” Stiles drawls, pushing his hips up against Derek’s.

Derek huffs, moves to sit up and Stiles laughs, winds his legs around Derek’s back.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, just come here—” and then they’re kissing again.

Derek’s already addicted to the taste of him, the feeling of Stiles surrounding him, underneath him, wants it always.

“We should—” Stiles breaks away, and Derek moves to kiss his neck, “Oh fuck, we should, go to my room.”

“My room’s closer,” Derek murmurs, worries at the pale skin until it reddens, makes a pleased sound.

Stiles laughs, “You glad I moved in now?”

Derek grins, kisses him gently, “Never move out.”


	17. The One With The Stripper

"Oh my god," Stiles moans, "She’s in our bed, Scotty! Derek is fond of those sheets, dude. So am I! They smell like years of me and Derek! Sleeping. In. Those. Sheets. My sheets, Scott!"

"Alright," Scott winces, "It seems like you’re more attached to the sheets than Derek, and years?" he pulls a face, "Shouldn’t you have washed them by now? How does Derek cope not doing them twice a week?"

Stiles punches him on the arm, “I wasn’t being literal, assface! Stop making light of this! I said I wanted a nice, quiet evening—”

"Which you never mean! For your last birthday you said you wanted quiet and ‘elegant’ and then got wasted and did body shots off my brother,  _in front of me_ , on the living room table.”

"So, this is your revenge? Hiring a hooker and having her lie around on my damn bed? I have snacks in there!"

"I didn’t do this, bro, Derek did. He thought tradition meant you needed a stripper."

"I told him the only person I ever wanted to see naked again was him! Or, you know, him and Mila Kunis."

Scott nods understandingly, “Elevator list?”

"Hell yeah, only one me and Derek agree on actually."

"I’m so happy for you," Scott deadpans, glancing back at the bedroom, "Look, one of us needs to ask her to leave."

"What? You do it! Your stupid brother hired him!"

"Your stupid future husband," Scott retorts, and Stiles’ whole face softens, eyes going glazed. 

"God, fine," Scott rolls his eyes, "I’ll do it, but, you owe me! Especially if she makes a fuss."

"She’s not gonna rob us, man. But," Stiles grabs a frying pan off the side, flicks out a stray piece of bacon, "I got your back if she does."

"Gee, I feel reassured now, Derek is so lucky."

"Oh please, like Derek would even let an intruder get five feet into the apartment. He wouldn’t let me near an assailant, let alone try and take them."

"Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared."

"I plucked your eyebrows the other day, dude. I can do just about fucking anything."

"She’s a hooker!" Derek bursts through the door, waves wildly at Stiles, "Stiles, don’t— don’t go in any rooms with he— don’t have sex— shit," he clutches his side, leans against the door. "Oh fuck."

"Ha, see," Stiles elbows Scott, "I’m not the only one not in their prime."

"Yeah, you two are a perfect match," Scott grumbles.

"I ran here from fifth," Derek growls, and then does a double take at Stiles holding the frying pan. "What the hell?"

"She’s in there," Stiles whispers, "We were gonna ask her to leave."

"With force?" Derek rolls back his shoulders, suddenly looking dark and dangerous and super sexy. Stiles smirks to himself, hell yeah he’s marrying that. He’s gonna tap it later, too.

"Fist bump me, Scotty," he whispers. Scott does so wordlessly. Derek rolls his eyes at them both, takes the frying pan off Stiles and puts it in the sink, before turning to the bedroom. 

"I’ll be right back."

The stripper slash hooker slash nice lady called Deborah roars with laughter at the mix up, and leaves with a twenty per cent tip. She pats Scott on the cheek and tells him to come and find her in ten years when he’s all grown up. 

Stiles pouts a little that she didn’t tell him to come find her. Scott pouts that he doesn’t look old enough to hire a hooker. Derek kicks Scott out, and sits Stiles on the couch. 

"I’m sorry," he blurts out, grasping Stiles’ knees and looking sweetly earnest. 

Stiles laughs, grabs his hand, “Don’t even sweat it, boo, this is the fun kind of story we can tell at the wedding! None of that early years angst.”

"You want to tell your father, and all of your closest friends and work colleagues that I accidentally hired a hooker, and then you couldn’t work up the courage to ask her to leave."

"You’re the one that hired her!" Stiles pokes his tongue out briefly, crosses his arms over his chest. "I  _told_  Scott I just wanted a nice, quiet evening in—”

"You never mean that."

"I didn’t want to see anybody else naked, dude! You are more than enough for me, okay? I just wanted to get drunk my best friend, maybe get a little nostalgic, and talk about how great your ass is, and how fantastic I feel about the fact you want to fucking marry me.  _Despite_  the fact I can’t ask someone to leave my own apartment!” Stiles points at him suddenly, “We have to burn those sheets, by the way.”

Derek is smiling at him softly, and nods, stands up off the table. 

"I already threw them in the trash."

"My hero," Stiles sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"You know," Derek begins thoughtfully, running his finger along the dresser in front of them, "It is tradition that you get to see someone take their clothes off at a bachelor party."

"Yeah, remember Scott’s? Isaac got drunk and cried in the hot tub," Stiles drops his voice to a whisper, "Between you and me, I think he’s still pretty devastated he didn’t manage to convince Scott to marry  _him_  in China.”

Derek exhales sharply, flicks off the light and Stiles blinks up at him, suddenly paying attention, “Hey, what’s—”

"I’m going to take my clothes off for you," Derek announces abruptly. 

"I— you do that all the time."

"I’m going to strip, as is tradition, because I want you to have the full experience of getting married," Derek huffs, "I’m trying to do this right, Stiles."

"You already are," Stiles objects, "You’re perfect!"

Derek gives him a torn look, half fond exasperation, half impatient, and then flicks on the cd player. 

Zeppelin’s  _When The Levee Breaks_  begins, which hadn’t ever been the sort of song Stiles considered sexy before. But, that was before. 

Derek slowly unzips his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. 

"Oh,  _jeez_ ,” Stiles shuffles down the couch, swallows hard. “You really don’t have to—”

"Shut up," Derek cuts him off, hips dangerously close to  _swaying to the beat_. 

Stiles has seen Derek awkwardly dance around ballrooms with Allison and Lydia. He’s seen him dragged around a club with Erica. Hell, Stiles has even managed to get a lil’ nasty dirty dancing going on when he whispers in Derek’s ear just right. He knows Derek can slow dance when it’s really late and he’s feeling  _very_  loving.

But, this is… very different. Derek’s eyes are intense as he looks at him, pushing up his shirt inch at a time. Even though Stiles  _knows_  what Derek’s stomach looks like, knows the touch and the taste of it, it still makes him squirm as he waits for more. Derek’s mouth curves into a slow, wicked smile, and he tugs the shirt over his head. He dips close enough for Stiles to reach out and catch his waist, press a kiss to his hipbone. 

Derek sucks in a breath, straddles him on the couch and bends to kiss him. Stiles pushes his hands up along hot, smooth skin, grips at Derek’s back tightly. Derek’s still grinding to the music, and Stiles is quickly losing his god damn mind. Derek’s a gorgeous heavy weight on him, rocking their hips together and making Stiles ache all over with  _want_. 

"Fuck, Derek, take your pants off."

Derek laughs against his mouth, pulls away and begins to unbuckle his belt, eyes back on Stiles’ face. 

Stiles bites his his lip, watches avidly. It’s not like they haven’t done stupid, half sexy, mostly half assed strip teases for each other in the past. But, never with this much intent, never with god damn Led Zeppelin playing in the background— Stiles will never be able to have Mothership in the car again for fear of driving off the road in a Derek induced haze— and with the lights down low. 

Derek kicks his pants away, and Stiles hums, splays his hands around his thighs. 

"My what—"

"Don’t even."

"I’m very turned on right now, dude, I don’t know how else to deal with it!"

Derek smirks at him, drops to his knees in front of Stiles and tugs at his jeans, “Relax.”

The cd shuffles, and  _Babe I’m Gonna Leave You_ , comes on. Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders. 

"This better not be a hint."

"I would have given you a fortune cookie at least," Derek reassures him, pushing his shirt out of the way and kissing down his stomach. 

"This isn’t how a strip dance ends, you know," Stiles points out breathlessly. "There isn’t supposed to be depressing music!"

Derek nips at his skin, fumbles around on the couch until his hand hits the controller, skips the track and  _Dazed and Confused_  floats into the room. 

"Oh, yeah," Stiles grins, shifts his hips up, "Yeah, this is… good."

"You must be the pickiest person to receive a strip dance,  _ever_. No wonder the woman took one look at you and headed for a different room.”

"Hey! You’re the one that wants to share that room with me,  _forever_.”

Derek considers his point as he’s tugging Stiles’ jeans off, “I’m used to you.”

"Oh, well, what a nice compliment."

"Stiles."

"Yes?"

"Shut up, and let me blow you," Derek stands, strips off his own underwear as casual as you like, and Stiles blinks at his naked glory.

"Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ll just—"

Derek rolls his eyes, kisses him until Stiles can’t focus on anything but Derek’s skin under his hands, Derek’s mouth around his dick and  _Ramble On_  playing in the background.

God  _bless_  the Queen of his dreams. Derek Hale is a magic, angry, beautiful secretly amazing stripper that Stiles gets to  _keep_. Hell fucking yeah.


	18. The One With The Videotape

"This is so cute," Scott sighs happily, watching as he and Allison wave at the camera as they sit on the sand. "When’s it from?"

Stiles squints at the list of movies on the memory stick, scrawled in Derek’s tiny handwriting. 

_Stiles & Derek go to Disneyworld (Bribery necessary), 2015_

_Beach, 2015._

_Scott & Allison’s first wedding, 2015._

_Experimenting with lighting, 2016._

_Wedding messages, 2016._

"I dunno, it’s from a bunch."

Scott winces as the video changes, and he’s drunkenly throwing confetti at the camera. 

"Mrs Scott! Mrs Scott, come say helloooooo."

Allison manages to look half graceful as she staggers towards the camera, smiles shyly, “Hi Stiles. Derek, don’t— don’t look s’mad.”

"Why you got," Scott slings an arm around Allison’s shoulders, shuts one eye as he pokes his other hand towards Derek. "Why you wearin’ that hotel sweater."

"It’s blue," Derek’s voice says flatly. "We needed something blue."

"The sky is blue!" Scott turns to Allison excitedly, "Babe, let’s go look at the sky!"

Allison dips into a curtsey, “After you, Mr Allison.”

"If you insist, Mrs Scott."

They both trip away from the camera, and Stiles turns it so it’s directly in Derek’s very unimpressed face. 

"Hey, Mr Stiles—"

"Don’t even think about it, Stiles."

"But, whose name are we gonna take?" Stiles twists the camera to eye it himself, "Derek Stilinski sounds pretty good to me."

Derek makes a noise that could be agreement, and is confirmed as such when he’s suddenly in the camera shot and kissing Stiles passionately. The tape cuts out. 

Scott scrunches up his nose at Stiles, “You just had to record us coming out of a damn Vegas chapel.”

"It was a blessed coincidence," Stiles smirks at him, "Besides, now you have a treasured memory to show to your kids. Don’t drink and marry your ex, kids."

"She’s not my ex," Scott hisses. 

"You guys are divorced."

"We’re having a baby! It’s just a matter of tim—" Scott trails off as the next video starts off, and it’s a shirtless Stiles grinning at the camera. 

The couch is in the background, and Derek’s sitting on it looking wary. 

"Stiles, I’m not sure—"

"Look, all our movies from Disney got ruined, dude. I’m not saying your eyes aren’t beautiful, seriously, you know how I feel about your eyes."

"I believe that very drunken rendition of Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes said it all," Derek mutters. 

Stiles winks at the camera, “I know how to make my man  _blush_.”

"Oh god," Stiles says from beside Scott, "You know what, we don’t need to watch this one."

Scott bats at his arm, “Shush, I wanna get to my wedding message and edit it before Derek sees I used the word buttface to describe him.”

"I’m serious, Scotty," Stiles says in a strangled voice. "You really don’t want to—"

"So," Stiles is saying on screen, sauntering over to the couch and wiggling his ass at the camera. "You gonna look over at it for me? Do me real good and see if we can finally make a bona fide sex tape—"

"Stiles!" Scott leaps up off the couch, covering his eyes in horror just as Derek’s pulling Stiles into his lap, not even managing to look reluctant as they start kissing. 

"I warned you," Stiles groans, fiddling around with his laptop. "Shit, I can’t make it—"

"Shit, Stiles, do that again."

"Mmhmm, I told you this would be fun. You can see how good you make me feel, how fucking good we are together. Watch me take you like I was made for—"

"Shut it off!"

"I’m trying!"

"You’re naked! Dude! Those are Derek’s— that’s your— my eyes!"

Derek comes flying out of the bedroom, half naked from his nap and Scott drops to the floor in a dramatic heap. 

"I don’t know what’s real and what’s not!"

"What the fuck is going—"

"Fuck,  _Derek_ ,” Stiles’ voice cries out breathlessly, and Derek snaps his head around to the laptop. 

"Jesus Christ, where did you find this tape—"

"Oh god, _fuck_ me."

"Stiles, fuck, so fucking good for me like this."

"Yeah, that’s right,  _harder_ , c’mon.”

"Love you, love you,  _Stiles_.”

Derek balks, not particularly bothered about the sex, but at his brother seeing him be exceptionally intimate in a way nobody but _Stiles_ ever does. He can't have people hearing how he sounds when he says _that_. That's for Stiles' ears only.

"Turn it off," he snaps.

Stiles slams the laptop shut altogether, as Scott flees the apartment, slamming the door loudly.

There’s a long silence. 

Derek gives Stiles a  _look_. 

"What? I didn’t know it was on there! Who the hell names a sex tape Experiments with Lighting?!"

"It  _was_ ,” Derek argues hotly, trying not think about the way Stiles had looked on the tape, shamelessly grinding down in his lap with Derek’s hands clutching him tight. “You’re the one that wanted us to make another one after the motel one got chewed up by that shitty dvd player.”

"Well, excuse me for thinking your fine ass should be saved to the silver screen forever. I didn’t even get to see if the filter worked!" Stiles gives the laptop a thoughtful look, "You know, I should… really… watch the rest. For  _science_.”

Derek hums, moves to sit next to him on the couch, almost exactly where they’re situated in the video, kisses his shoulder. 

"Yeah, for  _science_.”

Stiles grins, flips up the laptop and desperate moans fill the apartment. 

"Guys, I just need to get my—" Scott lets himself back in, hand still half over his eyes and they break apart guiltily. "What the hell?! I hate you both!"

The door slams again, and Stiles chews his lip, “Should we—”

"Later," Derek commands, kicking the laptop back far enough so they can see and tugging Stiles down into the couch, "Later."

"Ha, I knew the video camera was a good idea."

"I think Scott disagrees."

"Less talk about Scott, more talk about how we should make another one, right now."

"Yeah," Derek shimmies out of his pants, grins wickedly, "Do me, and we’ll have both on film."

"I  _love_  you,” Stiles sighs happily.

 


	19. The One With The Morning After

Derek eyes the tweezers Erica’s brandishing with trepidation. 

"I’m not sure this is entirely a good idea."

"Relax," she says soothingly, "I’m a pro at this."

"Okay, but—" Erica darts forward and tweaks at one of his eyebrows, and Derek yells. "Fuck!"

"That wasn’t even a real pluck, moron, that was a tester."

"You plucked skin! It hurt! Get that away from me—" Derek bats at her hands, "Stop it!"

"Just sit still!"

"I like my eyebrows the way they are!"

"They’re a forest!"

"Erica!"

"Derek!"

"Help!"

"Oh, for god’s sake."

The bedroom door slams open, and Stiles and Lydia fly in. Stiles is holding a frying pan, and Lydia is swinging a baseball bat. 

"The fuck," Stiles lowers his arm, "I thought you were flat out murdering him, man. I was genuinely worried we’d never have the chance to—" he stops, tosses the pan on the bed and puts his hands on his hips. " _What_  is happening.”

"Erica  _was_  trying to murder me,” Derek insists churlishly. 

Erica rolls her eyes, “You are such a baby. I have to pluck mine every week.”

"Twice," Lydia shares, pointing at her own brows. 

"What, really?" Erica comes up close to her friend, peers at them, "They’re so fine, though."

"Duh," Lydia smirks. 

"I’m impressed."

"I’m not," Stiles interrupts, marching between them and gesturing at Derek. "Why would you mess with a work of art?"

Before Derek can begin preening, Stiles continues. 

"They’re practically how he communicates, what with his inability to emote with his  _words_.”

"Thanks."

"You do have nice eyebrows," Lydia comments, considering said brows intently. "But, Erica was right to try and tone them down just a little."

"I like them as they are," Derek huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the ceiling. 

"Me too," Stiles adds. 

"No one asked you."

"Oh, that’s how it is? You know, next time I think you’re getting murdered I’ll come in and wave pom poms for the person doing it."

"I’ll be the person murdering you in a minute."

"Get away from me, Scott!" The door to the apartment opens, and Scott and Allison march through it before Stiles can respond. 

"Can you just let me explain?"

"Explain?" Derek frowns, "What does he need to explain?"

Stiles pulls the door of the bedroom to, blocks Derek from leaving. 

"Uh, nothing."

"Stiles," Derek crowds him up against the door, "Tell me, or I’ll—"

"What," Stiles blurts out, wets his lips and Derek’s gaze drops to them for a moment. "I mean, really, Derek, what  _will_  you do. I’m curious.”

"For god’s sake," Erica groans from behind them, "Get a room and bang it out for a weekend."

"Hey—"

"Allison, please," Scott’s voice comes through the door, pleading and desperate. "I’m so sorry. It was a mistake."

Stiles shuts his eyes, breathes out, “Fuck, she found out.”

"Found out what," Derek hisses, "What the hell did he do?"

"A mistake?" Allison cries, "Scott, a mistake is smudging an address on an envelope, or when you and Stiles painted Derek’s bedroom for him."

Stiles gives Derek a sheepish look, and Derek glares like it wasn’t nearly ten years ago, jeez. The guy never lets anything go!

"You don’t mistakenly have sex with someone else! You deliberately tried to cover it up, too. Your only actual mistake was not doing a very good job of covering your tracks!"

Derek’s eyes go wide. Lydia moves as if she’s about to storm out and Erica grabs her arm at the last second, expression grim. 

"You knew," Derek addresses Stiles in a low voice. 

"He came over this morning," Stiles winces. "I didn’t know what to tell him."

"I told him to tell her the truth," Lydia seethes. "I can’t believe him."

"They were on a break," Stiles points out, and Derek rolls his eyes. "What? That’s a fair argument, man."

Derek tips his head to one side, “Wouldn’t you be a little hurt if we were dating, and then I went and slept with somebody else hours after we’d decided to take this break?”

"I don’t know," Stiles considers him, "How long have we been dating? Am I in it for your amazing thighs, or am I super duper crazy in love with you?"

Derek swallows, his example was perhaps not the most wise. Just imagining the sheer force of Stiles’ love, loyalty and total insanity, directed at him, for him, is… enthralling. 

"The second," he manages.

"Okay," Stiles nods, looks up at him sadly, "Yeah, I’d be pissed."

"Sounds like Allison is, too," Erica muses, ear pressed to the door. Both she and Lydia have moved to stand next to the boys, but seem to have missed their moment, or ignored it altogether. 

Derek suspects it’s the latter. Erica’s been complaining about their sexual tension for years, and Lydia always claims she doesn’t care what either of them get up to, as long as they’re happy. Though, she does always point her fork at Derek and comment that they’d probably do that for each other. Derek has always been very good at denial, feigning ignorance, staring at Stiles for very long periods of time where they say nothing and—

"We were on a break!"

Stiles pulls a face, darts towards the door, “You know, we shouldn’t really be listening—”

"No!" Erica stops him, "If we go out now, she’ll know we all heard and be totally mortified."

"I agree," Lydia nods, "We wait them out."

"But, what if I need to pee?"

Lydia looks Stiles up and down, smirks, “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, or would be particularly awed by.”

"I don’t know, I think Derek wouldn’t mind a longer look."

"Shut up," Derek snaps, elbowing Erica and moving to throw himself on the bed. 

Stiles joins him, bouncing a little and drumming his fingers on his knees. Derek groans and slaps his hand over them. 

"Keep still."

Stiles sighs, “I’m nervous, dude. They’re Scott and Allison, they need to fix this.”

"They will," Derek promises. "He’ll have to do a lot of begging, maybe… something more, prove himself, but he will. It’s Scott. Scott loves Allison more than anything."

"I guess," Stiles gives him a wobbly nod. 

"What if they don’t?" Erica asks into the silence. 

Derek squeezes Stiles’ fingers wordlessly, has no answers for them. 

Lydia tugs Erica over to the bed and sits beside them, grabs Stiles’ other hand. 

For once, Erica doesn’t bother making a comment about the fact Stiles and Derek are holding hands, seeks out Derek’s free one, instead.

*

What if we have to stay in here forever?”

"Dibs on not repopulating with you."

"Oh please," Stiles tweaks Erica’s hair tiredly, "We’d have great lookin’ kids."

Derek makes a noise of derision, and Stiles quirks an eyebrow at him. 

"Well, as much as I’d give it a good effort with  _you,_  I don’t think either of us have the right plumbing, dude. But, seriously, I’d give it a good go _._ ”

Derek rolls his eyes, tries not to look too fond as he does so. Stiles pats his thigh, and Derek resumes carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Somehow, they’ve all ended up lying on top of one another, and it just  _so happens_  Stiles’ head is resting on Derek’s thigh. It’s easy enough to mess with his hair, it’s soft and familiar, and Derek just… needs something to do with his hands, okay?

"I’m sure Erica and Lydia would have something to say about us having sex in the same room as them."

"Wait a minute, are you implying you’re thinking about it?"

"I’d be okay with it," Erica pipes up from where she’s painting Stiles’ toenails bright orange.

"Shh," Lydia cuts in, "Do you hear that?"

"No," Derek sits up, and Stiles’ head falls out of his lap. 

"Exactly," Lydia pads over to the door, opens it a little.

"Did they kill each other?" Stiles asks. 

"No, Scott’s gone," Lydia bites her lip. 

"I’ll go," Stiles says immediately, "I know where he’ll be."

Derek catches his hand as he’s tugging on his shoes, and Stiles half stumbles into him in his effort to take it. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just," Derek shrugs, "He’s my brother."

"He’ll be fine," Stiles promises, "Stay here, keep an eye on Allison."

Derek jerks his head in a short nod, and Stiles leans into his space, presses their foreheads together briefly, “‘S’gonna be okay.”

"I hope so."

"Look at you," Stiles teases, "Having hope and shit."

Derek rolls his eyes again, and then ducks forward and kisses him quickly. It’s instinctive, a familiar,  _let’s go sort out the kids and I’ll see you later_  thing. He can’t explain it, but he’s glad he did it when Stiles pulls away wide eyed, open mouthed and  _beautiful_. 

"Dude," he breathes out, "You have the worst timing."

Derek quirks a smile at him, “I’m just glad Scott has you, that… I have you.”

"Duh," Stiles kisses him again, eyes open, less tentative, and more I _can’t believe we’re doing this. Are we doing this?_  Derek confirms it by stepping right into him, cupping his face and sweeping his thumbs across Stiles’ cheekbones as they kiss. He means it. He wants it. Needs it more than ever now, maybe. Life’s too short. People fuck up. He’d rather try, find out if he can trust Stiles the way he thinks he can, than never know at all. Risk losing out on the chance forever.

"See you later," he murmurs. "Text me when you find Scott?"

"Yeah," Stiles backs away looking a little dazed, "Yeah."

Lydia tiptoes past them dramatically, and they’re both distracted looking at her. 

"I’ve had to pee for five hours, and while you were busy lying all over each other, you were digging your damn elbow into my bladder," she snaps, "Shut up!"

Derek chuffs out an awkward laugh, gives Stiles a bashful look which is returned with a  _wink_. He watches them leave with Erica and then turns back to the couch where Allison’s asleep. He carefully pulls the throw out from under her, drapes it over her shoulders. 

"Mmm, Scott?" Allison shifts, frowns, "You there?"

"It’s Derek," Derek says softly, "You need anything?"

Allison scrunches up her eyes tightly, doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Just Scott,” she sighs eventually. 

Derek nods, even though she can’t see, sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

"Will I do for now?"

Allison sucks in a huge breath, tears leaking out of her eyes and clings to his shirt as she nods. 

"He loves you," Derek promises. 

"I know," she sobs. "But, what if it’s not enough?"

"It’s always enough."

He hopes.

 


	20. The One With The Proposal

"I don’t think I’ll wanna get married for like, twenty, thirty years," Stiles throws an oh so casual arm around Derek’s shoulders. "Life of sin for us, right, boo?"

Derek frowns at him, “Are you serious?”

"Well, you know," Stiles scratches his neck awkwardly, meets Erica’s eyes across the couch and tries to strengthen his resolve. His palms are sweating. Derek really doesn't look happy. "Maybe like, ten, at least?"

Erica rolls her eyes, and Stiles coughs, “I mean, never? I’m like, so comfortable, you know? We’re in a really good place.”

Derek carefully places his half of the chocolate muffin he’d just asked Stiles if he wanted— that had led to a teasing argument about them sharing food, and that Erica had then brought around to sharing a wedding bed, because she’s Satan like that— and sighs. 

"It’s not like I’m rushing to get down the aisle or anything, but… don’t you think it’d be nice?"

Stiles scrunches up his nose, “Expensive more like.”

"Romantic?"

"Cliché!"

"Significant for the relationship?"

"A meaningless piece of paper."

Derek half growls, “So, now I’m not someone you see fit to find the deeper meaning in something as symbolic as marriage with?”

"Ah, no, that’s not what I—"

"Because, we were going to get married, nearly a year ago, and you seemed keen on the idea then."

"I had… forgotten about that."

"Do you forget about all of the cornerstones in our relationship?"

"Hey! You’re the one that changed your mind about that one!"

"Scott and Allison came staggering out of the chapel, drunk off their asses," Derek stands, brushes off his pants. "If  _I_   wanted to get married to you, it would be sober, and ready for the commitment. It would be in front of our friends and family because, fuck, Stiles, we built a life together, against all odds, and I’d want them to celebrate it with us!  _If_  I wanted to get married to you, it would be because I want to have that moment with you, that memory, that— romantic cliché because I deserve it, and you deserve it and I fucking love you!”

"If?" Stiles manages weakly.

Derek glowers down at him, “It would seem you and I aren’t on the same page about where this relationship is headed.”

"Don’t pull a Scott on me, dude," Stiles tries to laugh, "We’ve had the where is this going discussion." 

"Yeah, and you led me to believe it was somewhere with…" Derek waves a hand around, "More than our tiny ass apartment that doesn’t even have both our name on the mailbox, and… kids and shit!"

"Wow, when you say  _kids and shit_  it doesn’t really sound that romanti—”

"Fuck off," Derek snaps, and stalks out of the coffee shop altogether. 

"Huh," Erica picks up her coffee mug, breaks into the silence with a disapproving glance at Stiles. "That wasn’t so much putting him off track as… making him re-consider his idea of you as a permanent potential life partner."

"Shit," Stiles groans, rubs his face, "What was I thinking? I believe in all that crap! I wanna dance to  _Because You Loved Me_  and everything! I want him to wear a tux and look like he’s gonna die of happiness because of me, because of us and what we— you know—  _have_. Will have. Would have had? God dammit, I fucked that up.”

"Only one way to fix it," Erica sing songs.

"I can’t tell him, yet! It has to be perfect! God, I wish you hadn’t walked in on me looking at venue options."

Erica smirks, “I wish I didn’t know you read bridal magazines in the bath, but hey, we’re all suffering here.”

Stiles flips her off and sighs tiredly. 

"I’m so sick of trying to put him off the scent."

"Then tell him, already," Erica grabs his hand, "What are you waiting for?"

"I don’t know," Stiles shrugs, "The right moment?"

"There is no right moment, dumbass!"

"But, some time better than sitting in the coffee shop where there’s a questionable muffin on the table and we’re in the middle of a fight!"

"Sounds pretty perfect for the two of you," Erica says lightly. 

Stiles glowers at her, “Look, we might argue a lot, have our ups and downs, but I still love him so much it makes my whole heart…” he slams his hand against his chest, “You  _know_. It gives me gross feelings, okay? And, I wanna do it right for us.”

"Dude!" Scott bursts into the coffee shop, darts around the couch, "What the hell happened with Derek?"

"What d’you mean? We just saw each other."

"Yeah, I know," Scott grabs his shoulder, "And, are you okay? He was ranting about how you’re not willing to commit to him, like you think he’s maybe not good enough, and then he was packing up some shit like he was gonna run."

"Packing?" Stiles leaps up, "What?!"

"I don’t know," Scott pulls a face, "He seemed like… really torn up."

"Fuck, I have to go find him," Stiles runs a hand through his hair in a panic, "Where would he go?"

"I—" Scott shrugs, "You’d know better than me."

"He’s leavin’ me, Jesus Christ, what have I done."

Stiles runs all the way up to the apartment, panic running through his veins. He can’t lose Derek. He can’t lose the life they have together, how happy they’ve been, how much he wants to keep it.

"Derek!"

He slams open the door, stops in the threshold when he sees Derek standing in the middle of the living room looking unusually nervous.

Stiles swings back to look at where Scott’s bouncing up and down on his heels, “Psych,” his best friend murmurs, shoving Stiles inside the door. “Erica text me, quit thinking the important stuff gets to be arranged all the time, man, just do what makes you happy.”

"I’m mad at you," Stiles manages to get out before Scott’s winking at him and closing the door in his face. 

He turns back to face Derek, swallows as he takes in Derek’s expression, half hopeful, half just as panicky as his own. 

"You wanted to surprise me?"

"Yeah, I, uh," Stiles clears his throat, takes a stumbling step towards him. God, he’s not even wearing clean jeans. "I’m not— I wanted— to get it right."

Derek snorts, shoves his hands in his pockets as he moves just a little closer to Stiles. “We never get it right.”

"We do, though," Stiles argues, "With each other, we got— you know— I got that right. I am lucky, Derek, so lucky to have you and to be loved by you. To know you," he looks up at him seriously, takes a breath. "And, I love you, so much, I just thought… It should be significant, when I did it, because you’re so significant."

"Stiles," Derek gives him half a smile, "Every day we have is significant. Life is short. If you don’t want to—"

"I bought a ring!" Stiles interrupts, darts to stand right in front of him. "I had a whole speech planned— Lydia went over it and put in commas! You love punctuation and shit, dude, I wanted it all to be perfect."

Derek grabs his hands, nods, “I know you did.”

"So…" Stiles moves to get down on one knee, and Derek tightens his grip on his hands, "You don’t have to."

"I fucking want to! Shut up and lemme propose!"

"Oh, well when you put it like that—"

Stiles yanks on his hand, and Derek grins, follows him down onto the carpet and arches an eyebrow expectantly. 

"Derek James Hale, DJ—"

"Don’t even think about it."

"Derek," Stiles snickers, grips his hands so tightly he can see their knuckles are going white. "I wanna spend the rest of my life planning, and screwing up surprises for you. Because I wanna see your face when I get it right, and have you help me when I get it wrong. I want to be there for you, see all the amazing things you’re gonna do, and go to bed listening to you talk about them, talkin’ to me. I wanna fall asleep with you snoring in my ear and—"

Derek makes a noise, and Stiles winks at him teasingly, “You do, you really do. But, it just feels like home. You feel like home. I never wanna lose that. I always want to come home to you, so, will you… I mean.. do you want to marry me? If you’d like to, still.”

There’s a long pause where all they do is look at each other, and then Derek’s face breaks into the biggest grin. It’s gorgeous and wonderful and Stiles’ whole chest swells with it. 

"I do."

Then they’re kissing and Stiles is throwing his arms around Derek’s neck and clinging to him, and Scott’s running in with Erica screeching and falling on top of them. And, Stiles has never been happier in his whole terribly planned, lucky in love with Derek life. 

 


	21. The One After I Do

"Scott," Stiles grabs his friend’s hand as he passes. "Give me your shoes!"

"What?" Scott looks down at his feet, "Why? These are nice shoes, dude. Derek made me buy them new for the wedding and everything."

Stiles snorts, “You think you had it bad? He wouldn’t even let me sleep with him last night!”

"Stiles!" Scott scrunches up his nose, "The less I know about your sex life, the better, okay? I’m still not over… witnessing so much of it, already."

"Sleep," Stiles repeats, cuffing him over the back of the head, "As in, lie out on a bed, shut your eyes and your whole body relaxes? Except, mine doesn’t do that like it used to because your stupid, dumb brother broke me! I can’t sleep alone, now, Scott. Do you understand?" Stiles towers into him. "I’m running on a nap I got against his shoulder at breakfast, and I’m desperate, here. I need. your. shoes."

"Why?!"

"For reasons!"

"But—"

"Because I learnt to dance, okay?!"

Scott squints at him, “You… Stiles, everyone has the rhythm inside of them,” he claps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, smirks, “You just have to find yours.”

"I hate you," Stiles snaps, "And, shut up, asshole. I mean I learnt how to fucking ballroom dance."

"Oh," Scott’s face softens, "For Derek?"

"No, for your mom! Of course for Derek!" Stiles begins tugging at his tie distractedly. "I do a lot of dumb shit for him, and apparently wanting to actually give him a decent first dance rather than stagger into the tables is something I thought would be nice!"

"It is nice."

"Thanks," the fight goes out of Stiles as he gives his best friend a weak smile. "Dude, I did all that and it turns out… my shoes are slippery."

"You’re— ohhh," understanding dawns on Scott’s face. "Okay, yeah," he nods quickly. "Here."

Scott ducks down to untie his shoelaces just as Derek comes sailing around the corner. 

He freezes in place, folds his arms as he looks at them both, “Stiles, I know you’ve gotten into the whole marriage thing since we decided to do it, but two in one year?”

"Ha ha," Stiles scoffs, biting down on a smile as he looks over at Derek. His  _husband_. Holy shit, they got married!

"Oh, Derek!" Scott leaps up, "It’s not what it looks like."

"It’s cool, Scotty," Stiles punches his shoulder affably, "I know you wanna get all up on this but I’ma have to turn you down." He heads towards Derek, smiling stupidly, "I’m a one man kinda guy.  _Forever_.”

"When you say it like that," Derek winds his arms around his waist as he gets close, "It sounds a little like you’re planning on killing me."

"Only with love."

"Ugh," Scott pulls a face, "Please stop."

"Shut up, you’re just jealous of our deep, unbreakable bond," Stiles wiggles his ring hand in Scott’s face, "We’re in it to win, too."

"Win?" Derek asks mildly. 

"Mhm, no divorces inebtween break ups and make ups."

"Who said there’ll be break ups?"

"No one," Stiles snickers, "I just wanted to find a way to bring up Scott’s—"

"Hey, douchebag," Scott interrupts, elbowing Stiles so that Stiles has to grab hold of Derek’s shoulder to stay balanced. It’s not that much of a hardship. Really. Derek looks so damn good in a tux. And, he actually readjusts his stance a little to help Stiles. He’s a good husband like that. 

"Sorry," Stiles blinks sheepishly when he realises Derek and Scott are looking at him. "I was… thinking about the soup we’re gonna be eating in a bit."

"Sure," Scott snorts, "You want my shoes, or not?"

"Stiles, are you robbing your new brother in law of his shoes?" 

"You don’t actually care," Stiles points in Derek’s face, "You just wanted an excuse to use the term brother in law. Because you’re as delighted as me that we’re married. Married.  _Forever_.”

"Forget it," Scott cuts in as Derek swoops in and kisses the gleeful smile of Stiles’ face altogether. "I’m going to find Allison and a bottle of champagne. See how you like my toast  _drunk_ , bitches.”

Derek pulls away, looks suddenly wary, “Allison’s not… drinking tonight.”

Both Scott and Stiles give him dubious looks, and Stiles taps his cheek. “Allison. Our Allison. Queen of the dry white wine. That Allison?”

"Mhm," Derek shrugs, "Said she’s cutting down for…"

"For science?"

Derek scowls at him, obviously trying to come up with a lie and failing. 

Stiles snaps his fingers, “She did say something about a diet coming up.”

Scott rolls his eyes, begins stalking back towards the ballroom, “If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a million times, she hates diets. And, she doesn’t need to go on one!”

"Thanks," Derek murmurs in Stiles’ ear, and Stiles shivers at the nearness of him, melts into his arms. 

"No biggie, but, you will have to tell me why you floundered there, eventually. I can’t lie to my brother in law forever, Derek."

"I thought you liked the idea of forever."

"Yeah, with you."

Derek huffs a laugh, twines their hands together as they follow Scott. 

"Oh, so, hey, let’s get a drink!" Stiles tries tugging him in the direction of the bar, and Derek raises his eyebrows. 

"Now? I thought… you know…" his face flushes an adorable red, and Stiles wants to fucking  _coo_  at how cute his damn husband is. Then he remembers his own dilemma. 

"I, uh, can’t."

"Stiles," Derek uses their joined hands to pull him close, "I don’t care if you can’t dance. I won’t even care if you look like an idiot, I’m used to it, remember?"

"Shut up! You married it."

"Hell yes I did," Derek says pointedly. 

Stiles groans, pinches the bridge of his nose, “It’s not that, it’s just… my shoes.” He takes a breath, steps onto the dance floor, and promptly sweeps up from under himself and falls back into Derek. Derek’s arms catch him easily, and Stiles straightens up, dusting himself off and pretending like the whole room isn’t watching them.

"Damn, good reflexes, baby, thanks!"

"It comes with the territory," Derek smirks, looks down at his feet. "So, you can’t dance at all?"

"No, I wanted to, I even learnt!" Stiles looks at him earnestly, "I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you! You know, hey, we did a cool thing today, and thanks for sticking with me and I love you so… surprise! I can dance! But, uh, I might have underestimated how shiny shoes work on shiny dance-floors?"

Derek’s lips twitch, and his eyes are fond when Stiles looks up at them. 

"It’s okay, you can show me later."

"But—"

"I have a solution for now," Derek takes his hand again, kisses it briefly before pulling him slowly onto the dance floor. 

"Derek—"

"Stand on my feet."

"What."

"You want me to say it in french?"

"No, I just— wow, could you? How many languages  _do_  you know?”

Derek shrugs, casually winding Stiles’ arms around his neck when he’s not paying attention. “Had a lot of time to read about linguistics when I didn’t have any friends in high school or… I was waiting for cookies to bake.”

Stiles laughs, buries it in Derek’s neck and then looks up at him, runs a hand along his face. 

"I dunno, I would have been your friend."

"Unlikely," Derek scoffs, "The first time we met you said, and I quote ' _whatever'_.”

"I was trying to play it cool! You were like ninety million degrees of hot!"

It’s Derek’s turn to laugh, and he kisses Stiles’ cheek, pushes him forward so that Stiles has no choice but to step on his toes or fall on his ass. 

"For what it’s worth," Stiles manages after a long minute of staring into Derek’s eyes like the newly married idiots that they are. "I’m glad we’re friends now."

"Stiles," Derek smiles brightly at him, "We’re not friends, we’re married.  _Forever_.”

Stiles’ feet slip off Derek’s as he laughs, and Derek turns it into a twirl, spins him back onto his shoes. 

"You got me," Stiles pretends to simper. 

"Always," Derek huffs, like it’s news he has Stiles’ back, or that Stiles has Derek’s.  _Forever_.

 


	22. The One With Allison's Sister

"Hey, Stiles, look."

"No, Derek," Stiles refuses to look up from his book. "Go back to bed."

"I dun need to go to bed, I need you to look. At me."

"I look at you all the time. I know what you look like," Stiles promises patiently. "I would like to look at you in  _bed_ —”

"I can do that."

Stiles knows Derek is leering at him, determinedly keeps his eyes on his page. Derek is the only person in the world that would successfully pull off being sick and sexy. He can’t risk looking. 

“ _Asleep_ ,” he finishes firmly. 

"Creeper," Derek huffs. Stiles glances up when he hears movement, sees Derek struggling to stand in four sweaters, a scarf, and a desperate need for sleep. He’s been running on empty for weeks at the restaurant, had come home last night, pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck in bed, and then sneezed all over him. Stiles had suggested they find the cold medicine. Derek had suggested they find the lube.

Safe to say, Derek is sick, and in total denial about it.

"You are a cute sleeper," Stiles muses, watching as Derek gives up, flops back down into his chair and pulls one of Stiles’ old lacrosse hoodies tighter around him. He looks fucking adorable with his hair all mussed and a pout on his face. 

"Most people would kill to spend the day in bed."

"I’m d—d— _not_  most people,” Derek sniffs, and then sneezes three times in a row, each getting significantly louder. 

"Woah, easy there, tiger, I’m not sure people on the next block know you live here."

"Everyone should d’ow," Derek insists. "We are here."

"We’re queer," Stiles murmurs, pumping a fist in the air. 

Derek gives him a withering look, that is somewhat dampened by his red nose and sad eyes. 

Stiles sighs, tosses his book on the side and holds out his arms. “Do you want a hug?”

"D’o," Derek manages, "Hugs are for sick people. I see through your pla’b."

"Yeah, it’s a real evil  _pla’b_ ,” Stiles teases, still holding out his arms. “Come on, I know you can’t resist.”

Derek looks tempted for a moment, and then suddenly, his expression goes calculating. 

"Derek…"

"I b’ow  _you_  cab’t resist,” he slinks out of one of his layers, eyes on Stiles. “You wanna co’be over here and take off the rest.”

"Mhm, or," Stiles stands, and Derek looks briefly triumphant before he sees Stiles is heading for the stove. "We could make soup, and turn the heating up!"

Derek harrumphs, and it turns into a hacking cough. He throws his head back, clawing at his neck dramatically, and Stiles is a terrible boyfriend for wanting to laugh at how ridiculous he looks. 

"Stop it," Derek glares from across the room. "Stop laughing at b’e."

"Things you might hear Derek say in the bedroom for two hundred," Stiles teases. 

Derek flips him off, rolls off his chair and then tries to get up. 

"Stiles."

Stiles hums from where his head’s in the cupboard, examining their insanely large soup collection. Honestly, Derek being a chef is going to make him so fat one day.

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles whips around, sees Derek holding his head, “What? You bang your noggin pretendin’ to be  _fi’be_?”

"There are stars, Stiles," Derek winces, spreads out across the floor. He rests his head on one of the discarded couch cushions, groans loudly. 

"You even the littlest bit comfy down there?"

"Mhm," Derek wiggles around, and it looks more like he’s humping the floor than anything else. But, Stiles assumes it’s meant to imply how comfortable he is on the wooden floorboards. It goes without saying, Stiles is momentarily distracted from heating up soup by the way Derek’s sweats cling to his ass  _super_  nicely.

Stiles moves to stand over him once the soup is nearly ready, folds his arms, “You dead?”

Derek shakes his head, “I’b good. You should— you should— join me,” he manages wearily, rolling onto his back and grinning up at Stiles. The sensual hand gliding up his torso is ruined somewhat by the next wave of coughs, and Stiles shakes his head, ducks down to grab his arms. 

"On the damn couch, Derek! The floor is bad for you."

"I’m not sick!"

"Yeah, okay, fine," Stiles holds up three fingers, "How many?"

Derek goes cross eyed, and then moans, covers his face, “Trickery! Deceit!” 

"I know," Stiles clucks his tongue, "I’m such an evil boyfriend; makin’ you soup and preventing you from catching a worse cold by lying on the floor just to prove a point!"

"Y’are," Derek agrees stroppily. 

Stiles watches him out of the corner of his eye, smirks as Derek very slowly stretches out along the couch, buries his face in the cushion Stiles was sitting on. He pours the soup into a bowl, hurries back to the couch as he blows on it. Derek opens one eye when Stiles waves the bowl in front of him. 

"Don’b wan’ soup. Soup is for sick people, and I’m ‘ot sick," he waves a weak hand out at Stiles. "Lemme show you."

"Derek, sugar, if you can climb off the couch and catch me in the next thirty seconds, I will blow you, right now."

Stiles reckons he’s pretty safe, either way; even if Derek does get to him it’s not like he can catch a cold from Derek’s dick.

Derek valiantly attempts to get off the couch, shakes his head sluggishly, “Why don’t— why don’t you come here to me.” Stiles stands off the table edge, and Derek whines, “No, co’be here to me!”

"I’m getting salt! You need a lil bit of flavoring in this! I’ll be right back. Look," Stiles backs away from the couch, waves at Derek, "Hi, you can see me."

"I wish I couldn’t," Derek says in a surly voice. 

"Burn, baby," Stiles comes back around to the couch, tings the spoon against the side of the bowl. "So, you want this or not?"

Derek’s eyes go Disney style wide when he catches sight of the soup properly. It’s his favorite— leek and potato— and it’s even in his favorite bowl. 

“‘kay, maybe,” he sniffs loudly, moves to sit up and then blinks dizzily. “Can you—”

"Ah ah, are you admitting you’re sick?" Stiles gives him a smug look, waves the spoon at him, "Do you want me to do this for you?"

"I hate you."

"And, I love you, and want you to be well again," Stiles spoons some soup up, offers it to him. 

Derek demolishes half the bowl before giving in, flopping back against the couch cushion. 

"Tha’b you."

"You’re welcome," Stiles leans forward and kisses him quickly.

"Don’t," Derek pushes his chest, "You’ll get sick, too."

"Eh," Stiles smiles softly at him, runs a hand through his gross, sweaty hair, "You’re worth it. Besides," he smirks again," We share a lot, boo, I’m probably gonna get sick, too."

"I’ll look after you," Derek promises, and then tugs until Stiles is sitting on the couch with him, rests his head contentedly on Stiles’ thigh. 

"I’m more than okay with that. I’ll admit to being sick, I don’t mind you servin’ me on hand and foot for the day."

Derek pinches his thigh, and Stiles laughs, continues running his hands through his hair until his snores fill the apartment. 

Stiles decides it  _must_  be true love, because he still wants to be in the same vicinity as Derek when he’s snuffling, drooling and coughing all over him. 

 


	23. The One Where Erica Hates PBS

"Oh my god! Why are you naked?!" Allison rushes from the room, still covering her eyes and throwing random articles of clothing back at Derek. 

"Because it’s my room," Derek huffs, throwing on a pair of sweats and stalking after her. "And, you didn’t announce yourself!"

"Oh," Allison swings around, "I’m sorry, I just assumed with the knocking and permission to enter I didn’t need a formal announcement!"

Derek scowls, folds his arms, “I refuse to be embarrassed about this.”

"That’s fantastic for you, but, I’d still like some sort of explanation for the—" Allison waves a hand around, blushes, "You know… It smelled like a spa in there!"

"I like my room to smell nice."

"Derek!"

"Fine, I was waiting for someone, if you must know."

"I live here, too! What if I had walked in on both of you."

Derek flushes, “Unlikely, he’s  _very_  loud.”

Allison opens her mouth to complain, and then decides her interest is piqued instead. “Really? He good?”

"Mhm," Derek rubs his jaw awkwardly.

"Oh my god," Allison steps towards him, pointing as she does, "You’re  _blushing_ , now!”

"You’ve seen me naked before," Derek rolls his eyes, "This is different."

"Different good?"

"Mhm."

"Don’t get shy on me, now," Allison smirks, drapes herself over the couch, "We have no secrets, Mr  _come and get me_  Derek Hale.”

"I didn’t say that."

"Yeah, but the way you were lying on the bed did."

"Shut up!"

Allison snickers as Derek marches into the kitchen, grabs himself a bottle of water to busy himself with.

"So," she says after a moment.

"So, what?"

"So, who is this  _stallion_  you were waiting for?”

"Christ, I said nothing about him being a stallion."

"Ah ha! So, it’s a he!"

"I already said that, good work, Detective Argent."

"I can feel your sarcasm."

"Good," Derek snaps the fridge shut. "You were meant to. Leave me alone!"

"Not until you tell me who it issss."

"Someone from work, it’s new," Derek shrugs, hopes to hell that the tell Stiles claims he has isn’t obvious to Allison, too. 

"But, you’re already in the spread out in the sheets, rose petals stage?"

Derek feels his cheeks heat up, looks at his hands, “Yeah, it’s… it’s good.”

Allison sits forward, rests her chin on one hand and dimples at him. Derek rolls his eyes. 

"What."

"You look so cute, right now. Talking about him."

"I am not cute."

"But, he is?"

"Yes, okay? He’s great, and he’s also extremely irritating, and— I like him. A lot."

"Wow," Allison breathes out, eyes wide. "I’ve never heard you talk so much about anyone before."

"I talk all the time."

"Not about people," she clutches her hands together teasingly. "Is it love? Is it the best you’ve ever had?"

Derek freezes, and Allison jumps up from the couch, “Oh my god, it is!”

"Shhh!"

"What? It’s not like he’s here—"

Stiles lets himself into the apartment, half tugging off his shirt and chuckling to himself. 

"Honey, I’m ho—oooopelessly devoted to you?" He finishes awkwardly as he looks down at the front of his shirt, smiles awkwardly at Beyoncé’s face, and then up at Allison and Derek. "Hi Allison."

"Hi Stiles," Allison coos. "Guess what?"

"Um," Stiles wets his lips, looks between them and Derek tries to signal with his eyebrows that there may have been a hitch to their plans to get naked and stay in bed for twelve hours straight. 

Stiles arches an eyebrow back as if to say  _no shit_. Derek scowls at him, flops down at the kitchen table. Stiles moves to stand just behind him, brushes his arm up against Derek’s shoulder in a casual move that could be read as accidental, but Derek knows was on purpose. He melts into it, feels relieved they’re a damn touchy group in general and that Allison won’t think anything of it.

"I can hardly guess," Stiles manages finally, "You got a raise?"

"Nope, Derek has a  _lover_.”

"Oh, really?" Stiles’ fingers dig into Derek’s back. 

"Mhm, and," Allison wiggles her eyebrows, "He says he’s the best he’s ever had."

"Oh  _really_?!”

Derek buries his face in his hands as Stiles exudes smugness from behind him.

"Well," Stiles trails his fingers along Derek’s shoulder as he moves towards Allison. "I gotta be honest, you know, anyone saying that about you is pretty… high praise."

"He’s in love," Allison whispers conspiratorially. "He was in the bedroom. Waiting for him. With rose petals."

"Really?!" Stiles turns to full on beam at Derek, eyes dancing with mirth. 

"Really," Derek echoes flatly. 

"If I were that guy," Stiles whistles, toes the couch, "I’d probably, you know, feel pretty pleased. I might even…" Without further warning, he leaps up onto the coffee table and begins flailing his arms in the air in what could be construed as dancing if you  _fucking squinted_. 

Derek is too busy glaring daggers at him to think anything. 

Allison laughs, grabbing her bag and pulling Stiles off the table. He continues to shimmy around her, thrusting his hips wildly. Derek is less than impressed. Stiles can use his hips supremely well when he wants to, can be very sexy, too. 

He’s doing neither, right now. 

Allison waves goodbye, and Stiles throws his arms up in the air, punches it excitedly. 

"Hell fucking yeah," he points at Derek, "Let’s go have the best sex ever,  _right now_ , baby.”

"No," Derek snaps, scraping his chair back and stalking towards the bedroom. 

Stiles’ face falls, “What? Why not?”

"Oh, I don’t know," Derek does a ridiculous imitation of Stiles’ dancing, and then shuts the door in his face. His own cheeks are still burning from Stiles’ reaction.

"Derek," Stiles knocks on the door continuously for half an hour. "Derek, please, come on."

"Go away!"

"But—"

"You are mortifying," Derek huffs at the door, "I hadn’t… I didn’t… This is an important thing to me, and you acted like a child!"

"Derek!" He hears Stiles slide down to the floor, shoves his fingers underneath the space between it and the door. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking."

"Of course you weren’t."

"Hey! Look, I was excited, okay?"

"Yeah, go you with your macho amazing sex skills."

"Dude! Let me finish! Look, before you I was… I was a loser, okay? I didn’t have moves, I didn’t know… what to do properly. I was a mess."

Derek snorts his agreement, and he knows Stiles hears because Stiles lifts his middle finger up in response. 

"Thank you for your support about my humiliating admission, there." Stiles sighs, rubs his fingers nervously against the floor, and Derek wants to reach out and hold them desperately. "I was never anything before you. You taught me stuff, you… you make it the best, for me, okay? You make me better. You," Stiles coughs, "It’s making love, okay? You wanna hear it? You are my lover, too. You are the best god damn lover I have ever had, and hopefully the  _only_  one I will ever have again. If you ever open the door, and forgive your dumbass _best sex ever_  boyfriend.”

Derek huffs, but opens the door, and Stiles falls through it, smiles sheepishly up at him from the floor. 

"You’re not going to let that one go for a while, are you?"

"Hell no," Stiles tugs at his leg until Derek sits down beside him, lets Stiles pull him in for a kiss. "You’d dance with excitement if you had you, boo."

"That makes no sense, I had my own hand for years."

"Oh, and you have  _jokes_ , too,” Stiles winds his hands in Derek’s shirt, “How’d I get so lucky.”

"By  _not_  dancing.”

Stiles grins against his mouth, yanks him to the floor and proceeds to remind him that he is, in fact, the very best Derek has ever had. Twice.

 


	24. The One With The Rumor

“Hey,” Stiles elbows Lydia gently, juts his head across the room. “Who’s the hottie?”

Lydia looks over, smirks, “That’s Scott’s brother.”

“What?” Stiles does a double take, “That’s—that’s Derek?”

“Mhm.”

“Shit,” Stiles breathes out, “He was… Lydia, he did  _not_  look like that in high school.”

“And,  _you_ , thankfully, look much better than you did at seventeen, too. So what?”

“Fuck, he’s really,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, gaze still trained on Derek, “He’s fucking  _smoldering_.”

Lydia glances across again, spots Derek mouthing  _I hate you_  at Stiles, and snickers to herself.

“What’s he—it seems like he’s saying something… To me? Already?  _Nice_ , I knew this shirt would do good things to my arms.”

“It’s not your arms, honey, trust me.”

“Then, he must remember me from school, and want to reminisce.” Stiles straightens up, grabs the nearest tray of canapés Allison’s made for Thanksgiving and clears his throat. “Time to mingle.”

“You mean, time to go and chat up Scott, your  _best friend’s_ , brother?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “No, I promised I’d hand out food. I didn’t say I wouldn’t pass his way  _first_.”

“Stiles, I really don’t—don’t you remember what Scott’s said about his brother and… you?”

“Nah,” Stiles scratches his chin with his free hand, smiles brightly when Derek makes eye contact and then looks away immediately. “He shy or something?”

“No,” Lydia lifts her glass to him, “But, I have memories of you and Scott in high school, and you never said particularly nice things about Derek.”

“’S’kids,” Stiles shrugs, “We were always winding him up. He hated it, though.”

“When your brother and his friends pick on you, I imagine it does get a little annoying.”

“Well, he obviously hasn’t held a grudge,” Stiles sniffs, “He’s looking at me, right now.”

“Glowering,” Lydia corrects, peeking over his shoulder, “He looks as though he’s actively planning ways to kill you.”

“Excellent! I love a good ice breaker like that.”

Lydia snorts and turns away, “No wonder you haven’t gotten laid in months.”

“Hey!” Stiles twists to argue, but she’s already gone. When he turns back, he knocks the tray right into someone’s front. “Bah!”

Derek blinks at where thousand island sauce is dripping down his shirt. Stiles looks up at Derek, and yeah, Lydia might have had a point, there is  _murder_  in his eyes.

“My bad,” Stiles tries, laughing awkwardly. “Hey, I’m not one to brag about Allison’s cooking, but now you’re definitely gonna taste delicious all night.”

Slowly, Derek scrapes his hand down his shirt, and then drags it along Stiles’, never breaking eye contact.

“Dude!”

“My bad,” Derek says flatly, before turning away and stalking to the dinner table.

Stiles hurries after him, knocks Scott flat out of the way to sit opposite Derek, and Derek  _bodily_  rolls his eyes.

“Wow, you look so like your brother when you do that,” Stiles mutters. “What the hell?!”

“I don’t look at all like Scott,” Derek snaps, “And, you couldn’t go thirty seconds in the same room as me without somehow managing to make my day worse.”

“I—What—” Stiles opens and closes his mouth incredulously.

“Attractive,” Derek drawls.

Stiles flails, slams his hands on the table and turns to Scott, “What is happening? Why is he here—”

“ _He_  has a name,” Derek interrupts.

“—And why is he acting like I’m fucking Satan?”

“Seems adventurous, even for you.”

“Shut up!” Stiles glares at him, and Derek smirks back over his wine. “What is your problem?!”

“I’m sorry, am I allowed to talk now?”

“Stop it!” Scott cuts in, looks between them apologetically. “Dude, I thought this would help because you know… everything we did in school… when, you know… we were mean to him.”

“He’s older than us! We weren’t mean to him, oh my god,” Stiles adds, glancing back at Derek, “What are you, five? Being mean to you is reason to loathe and despise me for life?”

“He’s just mad you didn’t reciprocate the gigantic crush he had on you,” Jackson pipes up, and Derek drops his wine glass, begins spluttering.

“That is  _not_  true.”

“You had a crush on me?”

“You had a crush on Stiles?” Scott pulls a face, “Dude, gross, he—”

“Hey!” Stiles swats him in the shoulder, “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“Everything,” Derek argues.

Allison taps on her glass, clears her throat, “Boys, break it up. This is Thanksgiving, and I have been in that kitchen since five am,” she gives them all a steely glance. “We invited Derek because he is family, and Derek, Stiles is family, too. Be nice, for goodness sake.”

There’s a chastised silence, and everyone begins eating at once. There’s no messing with Allison when it comes to food.

Stiles stretches his feet out, and completely by accident, kicks Derek in the shin.

Derek drops his fork with a clang, kicks him back.

“Dude! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you didn’t, you never mean to! You didn’t mean to make fun of my teeth—” Derek flushes and makes a wild hand flapping gesture behind his head and oh fuck, Stiles remembers that one. He remembers following Derek around for days with his front teeth sticking out and his hand waggling like bunny ears behind his head. Scott’s burying his face in his hands beside him.

“And, you didn’t mean to  _roller-skate_  outside my room when I had tests to study for, and you never meant to drive me fucking nuts—”

“All because he wanted your attention,” Jackson cuts in smugly, picking at his turkey. “Stilinski’s always been shit at everything.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles huffs, eyes still on Derek. “Hey, I am sorry about the bunny ears thing. You actually have really cute teeth—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Derek scowls for a moment, and then shrugs, picks up his wine glass. “Besides, I got my own back.”

Lydia picks up her own glass, puts a hand on Allison’s arm when she looks as though she’s going to protest again. “No, no, this  _just_  got interesting.”

“Don’t know why I bother with this shit,” Allison mutters. Scott grabs her hand and kisses it, and Stiles would be touched by how damn cute they are, if he weren’t boring daggers at Derek.

“My stuff wasn’t on purpose, dude. I was just a dumb kid. What the fuck are you talking about, got your own back?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek insists suddenly, ears going red.

It’s adorable, god damn. Stiles should have locked that down instead of made a sexy fucking enemy for life.

“He told everyone you gave him the world’s worst blow job,” Jackson informs the table. “And, that you were terrible in bed.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, and he turns to Derek—who is looking a lot paler than he was a second ago—and grabs the nearest thing he can find to throw at him.

“You blew my chances with Crissy Hines because you were the one that told her I was shit at head?”

“In my defense,” Derek begins, “Jackson will be dead in the next ten minutes, so the only people that will ever know the truth are—”

“The first girl I had sex with said  _thank god_  after! I thought it was a religious thing!”

Derek flushes from his forehead to where there’s a delightful, nay,  _awful_ , amount of chest hair peeking out of his shirt.

“I didn’t think you would really have been terrible at—”

“When I had sex with Luke Burns he laughed and said  _I wasn’t expecting that_. He wasn’t expecting that? He was giving me  _pity_  sex!?”

“ _Everyone_  in high school was giving you pity sex,” Jackson says breezily, and… to be fair, the dude knows just when to take his shots. Stiles would be fist bumping him if that had been about anyone else. Instead, he leaps from the table, and throws one of his potatoes at Jackson, and one of them at Derek.

Derek flies backwards, grabs his bread roll, shreds it into pieces and retaliates at Stiles.

“You still  _had_  sex! People didn’t call  _you_  Bunny Hale until college!”

“I’m going to call you that till your  _dying day_ , now!”

“I won’t know you on my dying day because I’m severing all ties from my family if they include you!”

Stiles advances round the table, tossing carrots at Derek and trying not to laugh. He can see Derek’s lips twitching like he’s working hard not to, too.

“You  _cannot_  still be mad at me for something I did ten years ago, man. Especially when it was all because I wanted to be your friend and you wouldn’t give me the time of day!”

“Because you were an annoying little shit and I had an inappropriate crush on you!”

"Oh, so that's all my fault?"

"Yes!"

"You're being intolerable, and an asshole."

"Takes one to know one."

"Ha! Seems like we're actually pretty perfect for each other. You lost out!"

Stiles throws his napkin in Derek’s face, grabs him by the sauce covered shirt and smushes mashed potato inside it.

For a moment, Derek blinks down at his hand, and then up at Stiles. And, then they’re kissing. It’s all angry teeth and tongue to start with, and Stiles isn’t sure if maybe they’re still fighting but with their mouths instead? He’s okay with it, either way, because Derek’s hands are clutching frantically at his hips, and their bodies are pressed together delightfully, and Jackson is groaning about his retinas in the background. God bless thanksgiving miracles and all that.

Allison makes them wash up. Stiles makes Derek take him for coffee, and then goes about proving Derek’s stupid rumor about his ability to give head totally wrong. Derek does not complain. Scott does, a little, but when they’re sitting at the breakfast table holding hands two days later, he melts and gives them both huge hugs.

Stiles calls Derek lots of things, bunny maybe one of the ones that gets him super well laid. In an angry, not really mad at all kind of  _awesome_  way.


	25. The One With Stiles' Tan

It takes Stiles nineteen minutes of pacing outside the door to let himself in. He’d turned back to the stairs at one point, but he’d heard Kira Yukimura from 11b humming to herself and he’d just known he couldn’t let her see. Kira is cool. They should really ask her up for drinks sometime. When he’s… recovered. 

Oh god. 

Everyone’s making casual small talk when he comes in, tosses his keys on the side. Only Derek looks up, as he always does out of habit, and Stiles wants to kiss his stupid, perfect face normally. He loves that Derek’s always aware of him, always waiting for him, happy to see him. 

Normally.

Derek freezes, lowers his cup to the table, expression totally stunned. 

"Hey man," Scott twists around to wave casually, "And, then I asked if— holy shit!" He leaps up, pointing at Stiles. "Your face!"

"Scott, don’t be mean," Lydia chides without looking up, nose buried in a book. "Stiles’ face being traumatic to look at was removed from the joke list when Derek started getting pissy about it."

"My boo’s got my back," Stiles says weakly. 

Scott doesn’t say anything, casually reaches over and pushes Lydia’s chin up. 

"Sweet Jesus!"

"I know," Stiles cries, coming over to the table. Both Scott and Lydia scrape their chairs back, and Scott makes an ‘X’ sign with his fingers. "Oh, fuck off!"

"Demon!"

"Pack it in," Derek cuffs his brother over the head, leans to grab Stiles’ hand and tug it away from his face. "Stiles… did you get a spray tan, today?"

"No," Stiles drops both his hands, glares at him, "I thought I’d just visit the  _sun_  for an hour and didn’t put sunscreen on.”

"I’m not… sure sunscreen would have helped," Derek manages before his face cracks and he stuffs a hand into his mouth to cover his laughter. 

"Stop it!" Stiles wails, grabs Lydia’s compact mirror and flinches. "Oh my god, it’s gotten darker since I left the shop!"

"Did you fall asleep in the booth?"

"No, they— they— they did the thing too high, and I was doing Derek’s nerd way of counting with the Mississippis—"

"Do not bring my accurate counting method into this madness," Derek warns, "You have only yourself to blame for doing this."

"I just wanted to have a tan for vacation!"

"A tan is one thing," Scott says through his laughter, "But, dude, this is—"

"Shut up! That isn’t even the worst of it!"

"How," Derek groans, "Does this get any worse?"

Stiles stands, and lifts his shirt up to reveal the very obvious line where his tanned skin meets his regular, excruciatingly pale skin. 

Everyone’s mouths fall open. Lydia shakes her head judgementally; Scott seems to be trying not to pee with laughter; Derek looks horrified. 

"See!" Stiles cries. "Now, you won’t ever even have sex with me ever again!" And then he marches into the bedroom and slams the door, throwing himself on the bed as he does so. 

It’s a little dramatic, so sue him. When Derek turned thirty he got totally wasted, crashed his own surprise party and threw the cake on the floor. 

They don’t really handle awful change well. 

"Stiles."

"Go away!"

Derek snorts, lets himself into the room and sits gingerly on the bed beside him. 

"Stiles, you know you’re being ridiculous."

"I look like an umpa lumpa!"

"You’re far too tall to be one of those… Although, we could look into finding you some dungarees…"

Stiles kicks his foot out to jab Derek in the thigh, and he laughs, grabs his ankle. 

"Stiles, come on, it’s not  _that_  bad.”

"You looked like you’d smelt sour milk, dude. If you can’t even look at me then… we’re going to have the worst, sexless vacation ever!"

"So glad that our paradise weekend away has boiled down to forty eight hours of sex," Derek remarks drily. "I feel so loved."

"Derek! Not the problem! I love you to the sun and back—"

"Evidently."

"Fuck off!" Stiles sits up, punching Derek’s arm and trying not to laugh as Derek catches his hands, laughing too. "I hate you!"

"And, I love you, weird leather handbag that you are."

"God," Stiles throws himself back on the bed, covers his face with a pillow. 

"We can just do it like this all vacation," Derek muses, leaning over him. "I don’t mind not looking at your face, it’ll be a nice break."

Stiles knees him gently, and Derek punches out a strangled laugh, tugs the pillow away. 

"Stop it, people will think I was attacked by the grease man from Family Guy."

"Oh," Stiles narrows his eyes at him. "Like you haven’t done dumb things like getting your chest waxed, or shaving your head."

Derek flushes, flops to the side, “Those were different.”

"Mid life crisis’?" Stiles asks innocently. 

"No, that would have been when I married you."

Stiles swats his chest smirking, and then groans when he catches sight of himself in the closet mirror. 

"Derek!"

"It’s okay," Derek says soothingly, rolls into him and kisses his tropical fruits smelling cheek. "We’ll postpone the vacation."

Stiles pulls a face, “But, you were so excited.”

"To spend time with you, dumbass. I don’t care where. If we go on vacation now, I know you’ll spend the whole time in the room, and not in the good way," he adds quickly before Stiles can say anything about the super awesome sex marathon he’d had planned. "We won’t get the breakfasts, I won’t get to listen to you complain about tourists, despite the fact we would also be tourists—"

"They walk so slowly!"

"I know," Derek agrees, "But… we’ll wait a couple of weeks."

"Yeah?" Stiles grabs his shirt collar, tugs him close. "I’m sorry, I just wanted to… look hot for you."

Derek rolls his eyes, “You always look hot for me. In fact,” he smirks, “You look more than a little hot now, you actually look well done, burned to a crisp, roasted—”

Stiles kicks him off the bed. He comes up laughing, and Stiles can’t be mad at him, especially when he turns the light off, and promises to help Stiles scrub every day to get the tan to fade quicker. 

"I really don’t mind showering with you," Derek points out, kissing him softly in the dark. 

"You’re the best," Stiles murmurs. 

"Well, I did marry an idiot that can’t count properly in a tanning booth, so I’m not sure I’m actually—"

"Oh, shut up!"


	26. The One With The Soulmate

"Guys," Lydia ushers in a pretty, brunette woman and gestures to her, "I want you to meet Carla." She taps Derek on the shoulder and gives him an intense look, "She’s the friend I mentioned that enjoys cooking, too."

"Oh," Stiles jumps in, throwing his legs over Derek’s lap to prevent him from standing. "You like cooking? Wow, that’s… so unusual. I don’t know anyone else that likes cooking."

Derek smirks at him over his coffee cup, nods at Carla, “Nice to meet you.”

"Hi," Carla goes to sit down next to Derek, and Stiles wiggles his feet at her, gives her an apologetic look. "Okay," she says slowly, perching on the chair next to them instead. "I’d been hoping to run into Lydia again, actually," she looks at Derek, smiles winningly. "I ate at your restaurant last month."

"Oh no," Derek pulls a face, "We were terribly short staffed all through June, I’m so sorry."

"No, it was wonderful!" Carla touches his arm and Stiles eyeballs her hand so hard he thinks he pulls something. She doesn’t notice. Lydia does, however, and elbows him sharply. 

"I’ve been looking into investing for a while," Carla continues blithely. 

Stiles tenses as he  _feels_  rather than sees Derek’s interest suddenly piqued. Derek loves dabbling with investments. He likes finding the tiny eateries that just need a little help, and watching them flourish. Stiles likes to keep his money in a box under the bed, or in the bank where it belongs. Derek teases him about it, calls him boring. Stiles always sniffs and says it’s safe, sensible. Now, he’s wondering if maybe he shouldn’t start throwing money at that awesome Thai place they get take out from at least once a week.

"I’ve been thinking about a new investment for a while," Derek leans forward conspiratorially. "That French restaurant on third?" he gives Carla a significant look, "It’s going places."

"I haven’t been yet," Carla sighs dramatically. "I can never get a table."

"I can!" Derek pulls out his phone, "We could all go tonight if you’re not busy?"

Carla’s eyes light up, and Stiles squirms beside Derek. 

"I’ve gotta go the range tonight," he snaps his fingers, "Shucks, I can’t go."

"That’s okay," Derek turns to smile at him easily, "We can still go, and you could meet us later?"

"I’ve always thought guns are a little… extreme to be around," Carla interrupts, tossing her hair. 

Derek clucks his tongue in agreement, “Stiles is a cop, he likes to stay on top of his aim,” he winks at Stiles teasingly.

Stiles feels queasy just at the look on Carla’s face as she considers them. 

"It’s therapeutic," he says faintly. 

"I prefer a nice spa," she replies, "Or, a hot bath."

"Don’t talk to Stiles about baths," Derek grins at him, "Says it’s basically stewing in your own filth."

"Hey, I like having baths with  _you!_ " He gives Carla a pointed look, hopes it conveys  _this is my husband, we are married, we share a bedroom, he snores and I find the fact he talks in his sleep adorable, back off before I throw my muffin in your face_. 

Carla doesn’t seem to pick up on it, frowns at him a little before smiling at Derek. “So, dinner?”

"Absolutely," Derek pats Stiles’ leg absently as he texts, smiles brightly when someone replies and Stiles wants to cry at how happy he looks. Derek lives for checking out new restaurants; whether they’re to invest in, or for competition purposes. Derek is insanely competitive. Carla probably is too. 

"How’s seven?"

Carla shakes her head, “I’ll be in the gym until six thirty.” Of  _course_  she fucking goes to the gym. Derek loves the gym. Hot people  _always_  like the gym. It gives them a healthy glow and a secret understanding between one another. We’re awesome, and motivated, and we don’t need lazy people that lounge around on the couch and don’t pick up their dirty underwear in our lives. 

"What a shame," Stiles jumps in drily, "What about next week? I’m free."

"No, I’m going out of town for business," she smiles carefully at him. "I’m in the wine business. It’s how I knew your place was great," she adds to Derek, "Your 96 Bodega Malbec—"

"Oh, we picked that personally!" Derek nudges Stiles, and Stiles tries not to wince. He knows Derek’s only trying to include him, but this story in particular…

"Stiles has never liked wine, and I wanted to see if I could make a convert of him. We went up to a vineyard last year—"

"For our anniversary," Stiles cuts in. 

"Mhm, and Stiles decided the best way to get into wine was to drink so much of it he passed out." Derek shoots him a fond look, and Stiles pretends he’s not dying of mortification. He’d spent most of the day trying to persuade Derek to go for a private tour with him in one of the dusty vineyards, and then Derek had carried him back to the room. He’d spent most of the night alternating between puking and telling Derek how much he loved him. 

"Ahhh, ah ha," he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, that was…"

"How about now?" Carla suggests, speaking over him and making him bite his tongue. "We could do a late lunch?"

Derek looks at Stiles inquisitively, and Stiles has nothing. Stiles has plans, Derek doesn’t. Sure, they were gonna have a late dinner when he got back from the range, and it was probably gonna lead to some sort of awesome sexy times. But… hey, if Derek gets to go have lunch with a beautiful woman, and then get super drunk on amazing wine and have better than vanilla married sex with her, who is Stiles to stand in their way?

"Sure," he murmurs finally, "Go for it."

"Okay," Derek leans over and kisses him easily as he says his goodbye. Stiles goes for broke, snags his fingers in Derek’s shirt and deepens the kiss, bites down on his lower lip gently as he pulls away.

Derek sucks in a breath, eyes heavy lidded as he looks up from Stiles’ mouth. 

"I— yeah…"

"Lunch?" Carla says from behind them. 

"Right," Derek clears his throat, grabs his jacket and climbs over the couch, waving to Stiles and Lydia as he opens the door for Carla. 

Fucking gentleman that he is. God, Stiles loves him. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" he whirls on Lydia the second the door shuts. 

Lydia frowns at him, continues filing her nails, “That Derek has the best palette outside of me in New York, and he can show my friend some decent places to invest in? Give her some tips? Give her a hand deciding—”

"When would be the best time to make a move on my husband?!"

"Don’t be ridiculous," Lydia rolls her eyes, "Carla’s not interested in—"

“ _Everyone_  is interested in Derek, Lydia. It’s the rule of life.”

“ _Your_  life,” Lydia corrects, pointing her nail file at him. 

"No, everyone’s. And, she’s all— perfect for him and oohhh, I like wine and I go to the gym and I’m basically everything your stupid, crappy husband isn’t."

"Stiles, enough! Carla is a smart, gracious woman, and even if she  _was_ interested in Derek, she knows he’s married. And,  _Derek_  is married to you. Derek loves you. Have some faith, or you should really re-think your promise to trust him, the one you made in your wedding vows?”

"But… but.. they’re soulmates," Stiles whines. 

Lydia stands, hits him on the shoulder with her bag, “Soulmates are a silly notion encouraged by the Hallmark industry to have us rushing around after one another ever holiday just to prove we love each other the most we possibly can. You are being extremely unfair to Derek, especially if you think he shouldn’t spend time with someone that shares his interests just because she’s attractive.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, watches her sweep out of the coffee house.

"So, she  _was_  hot, too!” he yells after her. “I hope you know I’m gonna sue you when Derek divorces me!” 

Lydia flips him off. 

Stiles goes to the gun range, and misses almost all of his targets. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s going to end up alone. Someone might as well just shoot him before he can shoot them. What’s the point if he’s not right for Derek? He loves Derek. He tries so hard to be good for Derek. He went to that stupid vineyard; he goes to tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurants that sometimes give him food poisoning because Derek has faith in the little guy; he learnt how to dance for Derek!

And, it was all in vain, because someone more put together, someone more elegant, someone that knows what a fucking amuse bouche is, was always going to be out there. 

Derek finds him underneath the covers a few hours later. He reeks of red wine, and he’s smiling widely when he peeks under the duvet at Stiles.

"Hi."

"Hey," Stiles waves his hand morosely. "You have fun?"

"Uh huh," Derek kicks off his shoes clumsily, clambers into bed beside him and sighs contentedly,  _staring_  at Stiles. 

"What, I got something on my face?"

"You’re beautiful," Derek says solemnly. 

"Oh," Stiles itches his nose, "Thanks."

"I missed you," Derek rolls into him, “‘S’never as fun when there isn’t someone pronouncin’ everything on the menu wrong."

Stiles swallows back embarrassment, slides away from him, “I can’t help it if I don’t know five languages.”

Derek sits up looking confused, reaches for him and Stiles flinches away. 

"Stiles."

"Look, I’m sorry, but I’m just not as refined as you, okay? I will never know the difference between a Merlot or a— a— that other one  _Shiraz_. And, I don’t know what a quail’s egg tastes like because I’m too chicken to try them. I— I am a lousy person for you to go to restaurants with, and I’m sorry! If you want to… keep going with that… with Carla then,” he rolls back his shoulders, “Fine. She can be your food soulmate or whatever. And, I’ll stay here and eat pork rinds on the couch.”

Derek blinks at him slowly, tugs the covers off his head, “Stiles, I went to lunch with her. We didn’t spend more than an hour together.”

"Yeah, but she’s all— into the stuff you like!"

"So? I like arguing with you about our different tastes. I like watching you get riled up when I can’t see the good in deep fried mars bars—"

"They’re gross and delicious all in one, Derek, how can you not—"

"See?" Derek stumbles back off the bed, comes round to grab his hand. "I can’t go ten minutes without thinking what you’d say about something. Your opinions matter to me. If they were all the same as mine, we’d have nothing to say to one another, we’d never argue, we’d never discuss or debate. I like being challenged. Why’d’you think I fell in love with you ‘stead of some boring person?"

Stiles feels himself melting a little, steps closer to Derek, “Yeah?”

"Yeah."

"It doesn’t bother you? We’re not… soulmates?"

Derek shrugs, looks at him for a long moment, “No, I love  _you_. I want to be with you, pork rinds and all.”

Stiles grins, “I love you, too.”

"Duh," Derek rolls his eyes, drags him back to bed, "Got your panties in a twist over some stranger." He pushes Stiles onto his back, straddles him and runs his hands up Stiles’ chest, “‘S’if anyone can compare. I picked you, I choose you, you drink wine for me, I… drank a  _lot_  of wine,” he finishes with, squinting in the light.

“‘S’okay,” Stiles flicks off the light, smiles up at him— no doubt  _stupidly_ adoring despite the wine breath— tugs on Derek’s sweater until he’s leaning down and kissing him. “I can deal with it.”

 


	27. The One Where Cecilia Cries

"She’s super cute, dude, well done," Scott peers down at the sleeping baby, toasts his beer at Stiles. 

"Thanks," Stiles preens, "I made her myself."

"She is quite perfect," Lydia agrees, "And, she’s already sleeping so well."

Stiles feels his heart swell as he nods, eyes never leaving Cecilia’s face. 

"You know what," he bends towards her, "I think I’m just gonna—"

"No, dude!" Scott grabs his arm, "You know what they say about waking a sleeping baby."

Stiles arches an eyebrow, “That they rise up and eat you?”

Scott scowls, “No, it’s just not a good idea.”

"Dude, are you serious? She’s my baby. She is literally half of me."

"Yeah, but her other half is  _Derek_ ,” Scott warns, “That can’t mean anything good if you wake her up without permission.”

"Derek  _loves_  seeing my face first thing in the morning,” Stiles dismisses easily, bending to pick Cecilia up. “Hey baby!” Cecilia makes a noise of distress and Stiles rests her on his shoulder, “Aw, I know, I know, but I’m here, now! Did you have good dreams?”

Cecilia scrubs her tiny cheek against his chest, heaves in a huge yawn, and then her face goes very red, and she begins to cry.

Scott gives him a smug look, “I told you so.”

"It’s just temporary," Stiles insists, patting Cecilia’s back. "She’ll be fine, won’t you, bubba?"

Cecilia ignores his cooing, and her crying gets louder, fists shoving at his shoulder ineffectually. 

"Oh shit."

Lydia picks up her bag, kisses Stiles’ cheek, “Good luck.”

"No, Lydia—"

"I absolutely adore the baby, Stiles, but I have no desire to listen to her cry all afternoon. I have an appointment."

"What kind of appointment beats helping out with your god-daughter?!"

"I have a manicure in an hour," Lydia strokes Cecilia’s head, "She’ll understand one day. I’ll take her for them myself."

"What if I want to take her, or Derek?"

"The last time Erica tried to go anywhere near Derek’s eyebrows he screamed blue murder, much like your daughter is now."

Lydia sails out of the room, leaving Scott staring at him in horror. 

"Dude—"

"You can’t leave, Scotty, you’re related, by blood.  _Blood_.”

"Stop saying blood in front of the baby!" Scott sighs, goes to take Cecilia from Stiles’ arms. 

"Dude, what are you—"

"Let me try! She might just want a change!"

"I’m her  _father_. Are you saying I’m not good enough?”

"No, I’m saying she’s a baby, and you woke her up. She might see you as the enemy!" 

"Oh, ha ha."

"Stiles, let me hold her for two minutes."

"Fine!" Stiles hands her over, and if anything Cecilia’s crying worsens. Stiles would feel smug about it, but honestly, the noise is sort of awful. 

"How long d’you think she’s going to do this for?"

"I don’t know," Scott winces, "You’re the one convinced you were the god damn baby whisperer!"

"Hey! She’s my kid, I thought she’d be happy to see me, okay?"

"No one likes being woken up, Stiles!"

"Derek—"

"Is an adult? And, I’m pretty sure when you wake Derek up he knows there’s something in it for him!"

Stiles snaps his fingers, “Oh my god, genius, she can have some lunch!”

He hurries over to the pots of baby food, opens one and waves it in front of Cecilia. 

"What do you reckon, boo? You want some?"

Cecilia considers the pot for a second, and then continues crying hysterically, rubbing her face in Scott’s shoulder. 

"Gross," Scott wails, "She spit up!"

"My baby is not  _gross_ , Scott.”

"This is my favorite shirt! Allison bought me—" Scott’s face lights up, "Oh my god, call Allison! She’s great with kids."

"When has Allison ever even been around kids?!"

"When Erica had the triplets, we babysat a few times."

"Anything is better than this," Stiles cries morosely, Cecilia seemingly getting louder as he shouts over her. 

Allison laughs down the phone, and then apologises, explains that she’s at work. 

"Good luck!" she yells over the crying reverberating from her phone back into Stiles’ ears. It’s like the goddamn surround sound Derek lusts after when they visit the Hi-Fi store.

Stiles is never having anything loud in the apartment again.

"Oh my god," he moans, holding Cecilia out in front of him as he rocks around the room some time later, "I’m sorry, baby, I should never have woken you up!"

"I can’t even be smug about being right," Scott groans from the couch, face covered with a cushion. "My ears  _hurt!”_

"It’s been hours! How is she not tired, yet? I’m tired. I want a nap!"

"You can’t go anywhere," Scott points at him, "She’s your kid."

"Maybe if I just…" Stiles lies down on the couch, rests Cecilia on his chest. She goes quiet for a moment, and he beams up at her. "See? You happy on daddy’s—" Cecilia throws up all over his shirt. She seems surprised, and then begins to cry louder for it. 

"Oh god, no, it’s okay, sweetheart. Babies spit up all the time! Daddy spits up! One time your pa drank so much vodka he threw up on daddy, too! You are so lucky your daddy loved him because it was not pretty."

"Really," Scott cuts in drily. "You’re giving your daughter the highlights of yours and Derek’s drunken nights out?"

"They always ended happily," Stiles sniffs, whipping off Cecilia’s babygro and hunting around for another one. Cecilia doesn’t seem to like being cold, yells even when he cuddles her close, yells when he’s dressing her, yells when she’s in her new babygro, yells, yells,  _yells_. 

Scott pats him on the shoulder eventually, sheepishly explains he has to go into work, and leaves Stiles alone with the baby. 

The crying, angry, red faced baby. 

She obviously hates him, already. He’s ruined everything.

"I can’t take it," Stiles cries eventually, looking at her desperately. "I don’t know how to help you! I’m a terrible father, I’m sorry! I don’t—" he realises his own eyes are welling up as he talks to her. 

This is how Derek finds him, sitting on the floor, covered in baby sick, about to cry, and Cecilia lying in front of him, still wailing. 

Derek pushes his glasses up his nose, hurries over, “Stiles?”

"I can’t do it," Stiles sobs, "I’m shit at this, Derek. I ruined it, I woke her up cos I wanted to be with her, and now she  _hates_  me!”

"Don’t be ridiculous," Derek chides gently, kneeling on the carpet and picking Cecilia up. He runs a finger along her cheek, and then rests her on his shoulder. "It’s okay, baby, I’m here. Your daddy scare you, huh? Wake you up when you were having a nice dream?"

Cecilia hiccoughs, tiny hands fisting in Derek’s shirt and burying her face in his neck. 

“‘S’okay,” Derek stands up, begins to sway around the apartment with her as he pats her back. “You can go back to sleep. When you wake up we’ll both be here, and you can have some carrots, and peas, and potatoes, all mashed up!” He peeks down at her, widens his eyes, “Would you like that?”

The crying begins to quiet, and Derek smiles fondly at her. Stiles twists his shirt in his fingers, his heart turning over as he watches them both. 

"And, we’ll go to the park, or have a play at uncle Scott’s," Derek drops his voice, carries on talking as he puts on the kettle, comes back over to Stiles. "Daddy’ll get changed so he doesn’t smell like sick anymore, too!"

Stiles takes the hint, rolls to a stand and heads into the bedroom. He berates himself as he changes, one ear listening to the quiet of the living room and wondering if Derek’s taken her outside. He comes back through to Derek standing in the middle of the room, Cecilia asleep on his chest. Stiles _melts_. 

"Oh my god, _never_ leave me again," he blurts out, hurrying over and plastering himself to Derek’s back. He kisses his shoulder, kisses Cecilia’s downy hair. "Never, ever."

Derek laughs softly, twists to smile at him, “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to. We need to be able to afford food.”

"Pfft, Scott can pay for it for a bit, he owes me after ditching me," he adds darkly. 

"Crying babies are mostly a joy for their parents only," Derek points out drily. 

Stiles bites his lip, “I didn’t know how to stop her,” he confesses in a quiet voice. 

Derek shrugs, “That’s okay, sometimes babies don’t know what they want. It doesn’t make you a bad father, Stiles.”

"What if I—"

"Stiles," Derek curls an arm around his shoulders, pulls him close and kisses his cheek, "She’s not going to remember this, and hold it over your head forever. She’s going to cry sometimes, and it’s going to go on for what feels like forever. That’s what we have each other for. We’re a team."

Stiles nods dumbly, buries his face in the other side of Derek’s neck and looks across at his daughter. She’s fast asleep. She looks like a perfect little angel. He can’t begin to explain the mass of emotions, the love and hope and care he harbors for her, for Derek, for his  _family_.

"I love you," he breathes out, "Both of you.  _So much_. I just want to do well.”

"I know," Derek soothes, "And, you do. We love you, too."

Cecilia snuffles, bops her hand against Stiles’ nose and he laughs, clutches Derek’s waist tighter and trusts him to hold them both up.

 


	28. The One Where Derek Can't Cry

Stiles curls into Derek at the end of Armageddon, buries his nose in his neck for a moment as he tries to fight back tears. It always gets him. 

"I hope you know if there’s a meteor coming to earth, you have to stay right here with me."

"I promise," Derek says easily, switching channels to the news. 

"I don’t know," Scott says in a shaky voice. "Maybe it’d be better to go up and see if you could…"

"No," Allison sobs, grabbing his arm, "I’d have to go with you."

"But, babe, it’d be too dangerous! I’d want to know you were safe until…"

"I’d want to go up and help," Lydia sniffs, wiping her eyes. "I just think it would be better to focus on something."

"Don’t," Erica wails, "I don’t want to talk about this!"

"Derek?" Stiles cranes his neck to look at him, bites his lip, "Would you…"

Derek shrugs, scratches his chin as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’d probably want to stay in bed with you and have sex until the last possible moment.”

"Nice," Scott drawls. "Super romantic."

"He’s only pretending it doesn’t bother him," Allison waves a hand in Derek’s direction. "He has to be the man of steel."

"Now  _that_  is a good movie,” Stiles shakes his head, “Always gets me a little bit when his dad—”

Derek harrumphs and stands from the couch, “If you’re all done being morbid, can we order take out, now?”

Stiles glances at Scott, who shrugs, “Beats me, he didn’t even get upset when our dog died.”

"That is  _not_  true,” Derek snaps, “He was old and ready to go, and I accepted that. Just because I didn’t insist we gave him a funeral and sing  _Endless Love_  doesn’t mean I wasn’t sad.”

Scott blushes, and then scowls at his brother, “It wasn’t  _Endless Love_ , it was—”

"Hold on a second," Stiles rolls to get off the couch, too, looks at Derek. "He’s onto something, there. You didn’t even cry at our wedding."

"The happiest day of my life," Derek says flatly, "I was supposed to cry on the happiest day of my life?"

"Well, I did!"

Derek rolls his eyes, smirks a little, “In fairness, I was phenomenal in bed later. It would have been enough to bring anyone to tears.”

"Gross, dude!" Scott wails, covering his face.

"Shut up! It was magic," Stiles snaps, not even glancing towards his best friend. He darts over to Derek, eyes narrowed, "The end of Titanic?"

"Kate Winslet not bothering to share the damn door.  _I_  would have shared the door with you.”

"We wouldn’t have been on the boat, you know I get sea sick," Stiles waves a hand, "Bad example. Gladiator?"

Derek scoffs, “That movie was filled with inaccuracies.”

"True," Stiles hums, remembering when they watched it, "Yeah, actually, you wouldn’t shut up about it."

Allison leans over the couch, points at Derek, “Lion King?”

"Disney."

"So… not even Bambi?"

"They’re cartoons."

"I’m not ashamed to admit I cried at Bambi," Scott confesses.

"You cry at everything," Derek retorts.

"Hey, I do not—"

When I proposed…” Stiles interrupts, “You didn’t want to then?”

Derek shrugs, “It was a nice moment, but—”

“ _Excuse_  me?”

"—a _mazing_  moment, but I didn’t need to cry about it.”

“ _I_  cried!”

Derek’s face softens, “I know, and it was emotional, I just…” He takes Stiles’ hand, squeezes it tightly. “I love you more than anything, and I still feel things here,” he prods his chest, touches Stiles’. “Isn’t that enough?”

Stiles sways into him, and then shakes his head sharply, “No! It’s weird. You’re a robot!”

"Thanks for that," Derek says icily, "If no one minds, I’ll eat in my room. I’d hate to not cry when Scott and Allison share a starter."

He moves around Stiles, dropping his hand, and stalks into the bedroom. The door shuts with a resounding crack, and Stiles winces. 

"Dude," Scott murmurs, "I think you hit a nerve."

"I’ll try not to cry about it!" Derek yells through the door. 

Lydia clucks her tongue, “I’m going to get noodles from that place down the block, ladies?”

Allison and Erica both nod and grab their bags, Allison tugging on Scott’s hand.

"When you have make up sex, see if you can get him to at least tear up," Allison whispers as they leave, "I’m curious now."

"Shut it," Stiles huffs, "I doubt there’ll be any sex at all for me tonight, thanks to all of you."

"You’re the one that called him a robot!"

"Yeah, but he’s still my robot. My… emotionally unavailable, lovable, awkward robot."

Allison arches an eyebrow, “Don’t lead with that, or he might file for divorce.”

Stiles sighs, closes the door behind them and looks at the still shut bedroom door. It’s ominously quiet. 

"Derek?"

There’s a clatter, and he hurries across the room, knocks gently. 

Derek swings back the door, shoves a piece of paper in his face. For a moment Stiles is terrified it is divorce papers, wonders if Derek’s been keeping them all this time, just in case. Then he sees it’s a printed out email. 

"What is—"

"Derek," Derek begins, "Check out these pictures of pandas I saw and thought of you. Dad is on break so don’t worry I’m going to get fired for emailing you on police time. Yes, I knew what you would say, because I’m psychic, also I know you pretty well. See you at home, loser, love you, Stiles."

Stiles winces as he looks down at his own message, emailed to Derek at least a year ago. There are indeed several pandas beneath, in various cute poses. 

"Derek—"

Derek is rummaging through their closet, yanks out an ancient lacrosse hoodie Stiles hasn’t seen in at least ten years. 

"First date we ever had, you wore this, and then when I was dressed up, you took it off and threw it in my face, telling me I was too hot for you to handle. You came back in some tight fitted blazer and we didn’t go anywhere anyway!" Derek brandishes the hoodie at him, "I kept this."

“ _Derek_ —”

"Do you know the date of the first time we had sex? Because I do. I know exactly what you said, and how when we—" he rolls back his shoulders, "When we were in the moment I had never felt something so right. It made me feel more than anyone ever has, and I  _relished_  it. When you would go home to your apartment, and I was here I missed you even though you were  _only across the hall!_  When my mom made my graduation, late because of Scott puking in the car, I thought… I thought I was going up there and no one would be cheering for me, and then there she was! And, I remember she cried and Scott cried and I didn’t but I remember every detail! My dad  _left_ , and it hurt more than anything, but I didn’t cry, because Scott was looking at me and I didn’t want to upset him! I watched you across the aisle from me, and my heart was beating so fast, I thought I was going to explode from it. But, you were holding my hand and I knew I’d be okay.” He marches over to their dresser, grabs his wallet and starts chucking faded papers and receipts at Stiles. “This is the first cup of coffee Allison ever charged me for correctly. This is a picture Scott drew me when he was about five. This is from that newspaper ad about our engagement,” he waves the black and white papery picture at Stiles. “You looked awful in all of them but this one. You were looking at me.  _Nobody_ has ever looked at me the way you do, and I thought nobody would ever get me the way you do! Evidently, I was wrong!”

"God, Derek," Stiles picks up the pieces of paper on the floor as Derek slumps down to the bed. He places them all carefully on their dresser, kneels in front of Derek. "I’m  _so_  sorry. I didn’t know. I had no idea you—”

"Felt things like a real boy," Derek fills in flatly. 

"No, god," Stiles runs his hands along Derek’s thighs nervously, "I knew that. God, I  _know_  how much you love, I see it, feel it, every day. I know you care. I should never have been teasing you. It’s not my right to say how… it’s not weird, that you deal with emotions differently. And, I shouldn’t have implied it. You’re amazing, you have the biggest heart in the whole world, and I’m sorry.”

Derek looks down at him, swallows hard, and then hauls Stiles up to him. Stiles clambers into his lap quickly, clutches his face. 

"You have to believe me, I’m sorry, I—"

"Stiles," Derek puts a hand over his mouth, "I get it. I forgive you. I overreacted, any way."

"No," Stiles says quickly, "React any way you need to. I promise never to make fun of you ever—"

"Don’t make promises neither of us will enjoy you keeping," Derek cuts in.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Still, just… I swear, I do understand. I know you feel things, too,” he presses a hand over Derek’s heart. “I’m lucky to have you. You’re strong and amazing and caring and—”

"Stiles," Derek interrupts again, smirks, "It’s not that big of a deal, don’t cry about it or anything, okay?"

"Oh, fuck off!" Stiles cries, shoving Derek hard enough to make him fall back on the bed, laughing. He throws his arms around Stiles, kisses his cheeks and his nose, murmurs his apology even as he’s still grinning. Stiles decides laughing in bed is far better than any alternative, any way.


	29. The One Where Stiles Gets Caught

"Hey, Stiles says he’s running late, got caught up at the mall getting Christmas presents for Derek."

Scott rolls his eyes, glares at his muffin, “Every year, he gets the best gift for Derek, and I look like the chump brother that isn’t thoughtful enough.”

"Maybe one year you could give us actual presents instead of making donations on our behalf to the museum," Lydia suggests sweetly.

"I like them," Allison insists loyally, and Scott beams at her. "It makes me feel like I’ve done something good, you know, saved an old relic for another year."

Scott’s happy smile dies, and he scowls, “Ha ha.”

Allison winks at him over her coffee cup, glances out of the window. “Hey, isn’t that Stiles?”

They all look up to see Stiles and a pretty blonde woman walking down the sidewalk. Stiles is talking animatedly, and the woman is laughing. At one point they stop, and she reaches out, tugs something out of his hair. Stiles’ eyes crinkle as he smiles down at her.

It’s a fond look. 

"He lied to us," Lydia states flatly, "Why would he—"

"I don’t  _believe_  it,” Erica murmurs, watching with wide eyes as Stiles kisses her on the cheek, helps her into a cab. “Nope, not happening. I saw them  _this morning_. Derek had a  _hickey_  for god’s sake.”

"I’m going to kill him," Lydia seethes. "After  _everything_  they’ve been through.”

"There’s got to be another explanation," Scott insists, dropping back down onto the couch as Stiles waves the cab off. "Stiles would  _never_  cheat on Derek, don’t even think he would.”

Allison rubs his back, chews on her bottom lip, “Maybe it’s just a friend we haven’t met.”

"Stiles doesn’t have any other friends," Lydia retorts, "Remember that girl he met at the movies and bonded with over a mutual love for Chris Pratt? I think she came to dinner  _once_ , and Derek spent the entire evening metaphorically pissing in a circle around him.”

"That was a bad fight," Allison sighs, "He made Derek sleep on the couch."

"Yeah, but then he went and joined him in the middle of the night," Scott shakes his head, "They’re inseparable, okay? I know my best friend, and he loves my dumb brother something fierce. This isn’t… it’s not possible."

"Hey guys!" Stiles greets them with a bright smile as he comes into the coffee shop, drapes his scarf over Scott’s chair. "What’re you up to?"

"We were just discussing what we’d do if we discovered our significant other was having an affair," Lydia states crisply, glowering daggers up at him. "What would you do, Stiles?"

Stiles gives her a confused look, “I don’t know, I mean… I guess die a very lonely death? Like, Derek’s it for me, you know?”

Scott gives the group a triumphant look behind Stiles’ head, but Lydia pushes on. “What if he  _was_  having an affair, though? Wouldn’t you want to know? For him to be honest with you? Not to lie, and hurt him, hurt his family and friends. Wouldn’t you want revenge? To get your hands around his neck and—” She begins to reach out her own hands and Scott launches across Stiles, grabs her wrists. 

"Okay! I’m sure he gets the point."

"Does he," Lydia snaps, " _Does he_.”

Instead of looking guilty or caught out, however, Stiles’ expression begins to go wary, and he bites his lip, frowning. 

"I’d… I don’t know," he clears his throat, glances between them all, "If Derek was… If someone knew that Derek was… I mean," he scratches his nose, eyes suddenly beginning to well up. "I guess I’d want to know," he finishes hoarsely. "So, if you have something you need to tell me. If Derek…" He rolls back his shoulders, tries to smile weakly at Scott, who is blinking at him in horror. "You’d still be my friend, right, Scotty?" he asks in a quiet voice. 

"I’ll always be your friend," Scott promises, "But, Stiles, we’re not saying—"

Derek appears in the doorway, sweeps down to them and kisses Stiles’ cheek over the top of the couch. 

"You will never top the Christmas present I got you this year," he announces smugly, "I’m going to get so much sex for it," he adds to Erica. Erica gives him a tight smile, and Derek pauses as he sits, unused to her not being proud of him when he gloats about his sex life. She normally has to pry it out of him, and even then he only gives her bits and pieces.

 _Yes_ , they’ve used handcuffs, and scarves, and once—  _disastrously_ — chocolate sauce.  _No_ , he’s not describing the way Stiles looks when he comes, that’s for Derek and Derek only.  _Yes_ , they’ve done it in Scott’s apartment.  _No_ , he’s not telling her where. Scott would never speak to him again; they accidentally broke an African tribal bowl. It wasn’t their fault! They were only there to pick up drinks for a party, and then one thing had led to another, Stiles was in extremely tight jeans, Derek was a little tipsy, Scott’s wall is far less sturdy than theirs, and they… fell on the coffee table. Erica had roared with laughter when she’d called twenty minutes later to find out where they’d gotten to. She’d made pointed comments about Derek’s sex hair around Scott all night afterwards.

Erica doesn’t look as though she’s particular amused by anything at the moment, though. Stiles looks down right miserable. 

"Did someone die?"

Stiles looks up at him with huge, sad eyes, and Derek’s heart squeezes tightly. 

"What the fuck’s going on?" he demands, "Has someone hurt y—"

"Are you having sex with someone else?" Stiles interrupts suddenly.

Derek’s mouth falls open, “What?”

"No, Stiles!" Scott waves his arms around, "We weren’t trying to tell you _Derek_  was having an affair—”

"We think  _you’re_  having an affair,” Lydia continues, “And, I swear to god, Stiles, I did not spend half a year helping you two keep your big love fest a secret for you to go and ruin it now. It’s the only one I believed strong enough to make it! I was rooting for you!”

"Hey," Allison interrupts, "What about me and Sco—"

"Oh, honey, this is different.  _Very_  different.”

Derek is oddly touched by Lydia’s fierce defence of their relationship, but he only has eyes for Stiles as all their friends begin arguing around them. 

"Stiles?"

Stiles gets up, comes to stand in front of him, “Are you?”

"No, dumbass, when would I have time? You’re more than enough, and I have absolutely no desire to have sex with anyone else, ever again," he lowers his voice, grabs Stiles’ hand, "I love you more than anything."

Stiles starts to smile, but Derek digs his nails into the side of his hand, “Are you?”

"Yeah," Stiles drawls sarcastically, "What with our recent decision to have a kid together, and how much effort I’ve gone to finding you that stupid German blender you want for Christmas I thought, you know what I should do? Have an affair with someone way less hot than my  _super_  hot, perfect husband. Who would definitely not be as good at giving head as you.”

He clambers into Derek’s lap, runs his free hand through his hair. “If I was gonna have an affair it would be with you, like, I would call in sick and we’d play hokey for a week. No one would know. We could cheat on _life_. Oh my god, Derek! Let’s have an affair together.”

"We could book into a hotel," Derek says dreamily, "With room service."

"Do the crossword naked, and Scott wouldn’t interrupt!"

"Man," Erica clucks her tongue, picks up her abandoned coffee cup, now that the drama has blown over. She knew it wasn’t possible, they’re still far too creative in bed to be looking elsewhere. Besides, she’s known Derek ten years, and only Stiles has ever made him  _flush_  with happiness. His ears literally go pink when he talks about him. “You guys say the sweetest, weirdest shit to each other in public.”

Stiles preens, twists in Derek’s arms, “Hell yeah, we do.”

Derek looks smug for a moment, and then turns to frown at them all, “Why were you all meddling in the first place?”

"We saw Stiles with another woman!" Lydia cries, "Wait a moment," she points between them both, "Go back to that comment about babies."

Stiles starts to grin shyly, and Derek hides his smile in Stiles’ shoulder. 

"Oh my god," Scott claps his hands together, "You guys are gonna have a kid?"

"That was Sandy," Stiles informs them, "She’s gonna help us with the arrangements."

"What are her qualifications?" Lydia pulls out her phone, "Full name, place of business—"

"Lydia," Stiles laughs, "We already got my dad to do all that."

"Super illegal," Allison teases, even as she’s reaching out to squeezes Derek’s knee happily. 

"Like  _your_  dad didn’t dig up Scott’s permanent record when you started dating.”

"I can’t believe you guys are gonna have a kid," Scott says softly, beaming at them both, "I’m so happy for you."

"Sorry we didn’t tell you, buddy," Stiles says sincerely, "It’s just… early days, you know? We didn’t wanna get anyone else’s hopes up. Not when we might not…"

"It’s going to happen," Derek interrupts assuredly, kisses the back of Stiles’ neck, "It is."

Stiles grins at his hands, “Yeah, it is.”

"There goes your torrid affair," Erica muses, "Nothing kills a sex life like kids," she pretends to shudder, and then looks up, "Does this mean I can borrow the handcuffs, now? Clean ones, obviously."

"I can’t believe our kid is going to be lucky enough to have such a moral, upstanding godmother," Derek drawls. 

"She gets godmother when I had to host a dinner party over your sex noises and pretend I couldn’t hear a thing?" Lydia stares at them both incredulously, "Are you kidding?"

"Actually," Stiles squirms a little, turning to glance at Derek, and Derek nods, smiles encouragingly. "We were thinking you guys could all do a joint thing. That way, you know, the kid’s got his or her own like… friend group, right off the bat. If you were all interested?"

Scott makes a noise of delight, and launches himself off the couch to tackle them both into a hug. Lydia abandons her dignified pose to follow suit, and Allison crowds in, too. Erica steals Scott’s muffin as she jumps on top of them all. Stiles beams at Derek from under Scott’s arm, and Derek kisses his elbow— the only part of him he can reach from where Erica’s squashing him.

Their love affair really doesn’t have room, or need for another one.


	30. The One With The Kips

"Have you seen my grey jacket?"

Stiles looks up from the television lazily, smirks as he watches Derek race around shirtless. 

"I don’t think you should find it; stay like that all night."

"Stiles," Derek glances at his watch, "That isn’t helping!"

"So, c’m’ere and lemme help properly," Stiles sucks his lower lip between his teeth, palms his crotch, "I can be _real_ helpful.”

"God, everything is about sex with you, Jesus _Christ_ ,” Derek snaps, tossing three of Stiles’ discarded sweaters off the back of the couch.

"Dude!" Stiles bats the sleeve of one away as it hits him in the face, "Watch it!"

"Why can’t you clear your shit up?"

"Because I’m too busy thinking about sex all the time apparently!" Stiles rolls to a stand, brandishes one of the sweaters in Derek’s face, "And, you were the one helping me out of this, jackass! I suppose I should blame myself for you jumping me the minute I come home, anyway. Seeing as I’m the one always thinking about—"

"I get it!" Derek yells, vanishing into his bedroom and beginning to throw more things around. "I take it back, fine, I’m at fault, like always."

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?" Stiles stalks after him, watches as Derek drops to all fours to look under the bed and growling when he puts his hand in Stiles’ abandoned cereal bowl. 

Eh, yeah, that one’s on Stiles. 

"My bad," he says immediately. "I should have—"

"This is my bedroom," Derek grits out as he stands again, "You could at least treat it with an inch of respect."

"The fuck is your problem? Now, this is _your_ bedroom, and not mine, too?”

"Well, you don’t actually live here, Stiles, you could maybe treat the place like it’s a little less than your second slob zone."

"I am not a slob, asshole, I work long fucking hours—"

"I know!" Derek marches across to the bathroom, yells when he gets tangled in Stiles’ NYPD jacket and half strangles himself. "Fuck!"

"Dude! Careful!" Stiles hurries over to him, tries to help out. 

"I’m fine," Derek snaps, pulling away from Stiles’ hands. "I’m also exceedingly late for a meeting with my staff, and unlike you I can’t wear what the hell I like to work but all I’m finding are _your_ clothes!”

"Oh, _I’m_ sorry,” Stiles snatches his jacket off the bathroom door, fleeting memories of Derek removing it achingly carefully when Stiles had come home exhausted two days earlier, and pulled him into the shower. He’d been so careful, so tender as he’d washed Stiles’ skin, kissed the bruises from the fight he’d gotten into with a perp. 

He has no idea where _that_ Derek is gone.

"Maybe I’ll just take all my clothes," he heads back to the living room, begins gathering together the sweaters, "And my cereal bowls and my… my…" He grabs the remote control, "This! And be out of your perfect, neat, stick up the ass apartment altogether!"

"Fine!" Derek spots his jacket from under the couch, and oh, fuck, Stiles was sitting on it. "Take your shit," Derek grinds out, "I’ll actually survive a trip to the bathroom without tripping on your damn shoes, or find a mug that doesn’t have half a cup of abandoned coffee left in it!"

"That’s Scott!"

"It’s both of you! And, while you’re at it, tell Scott he’s not allowed to drop round whenever he pleases just so that the two of you can marathon hockey games!"

Derek marches through the living room, yanking on his crumpled jacket and swinging the door wide, “I hate hockey!”

He slams the door shit.

"Well I hate _you!_ ”

There’s a resounding silence, and Stiles instantly regrets the words. He doesn’t ever say shit like that to someone before they leave, growing up a cop’s kid, losing his mom, being a cop, he’s always been so careful and, shit, what Derek must think of him. 

He’s probably not going to want to come back to his apartment to see Stiles, declarer of hate, sitting in his living room. 

It’s just that Stiles had been getting used to being with Derek all the time. he hadn’t realised he’d gotten comfortable in Derek’s living space, hadn’t noticed the mess he’d been building up. For someone as tidy and meticulous, thorough— so thorough, the best kind of thorough with sex in particular— as Derek, it must have been driving him crazy. 

God, Stiles is the worst. If he’d just gotten up off his lazy ass and helped look they wouldn’t have had the fight. He would have helped Derek put his wrinkly jacket on and maybe teased about rolling up to work looking sex ruffled. They’d have kissed goodbye and Stiles would have lolled into the bedroom and spotted the cereal bowl. He would have tidied up, been waiting for Derek to come home, to _him_. 

Now he needs to fucking clear out before Derek can get back and tell him so himself. He just can’t hear the words, can’t bear to see Derek’s face when he breaks up with Stiles. He’s not ready.

*

“You look like shit,” Danny tells him when Stiles rolls into work at eleven, tired and sad.

“Yeah, well, you look like…” Stiles glances over at him, “God, you look fine, I hate you.”

Danny laughs, “I had a date that went well and—”

“End it now,” Stiles interrupts, “Before you fall for him and he breaks your heart.”

“Wow, optimistic advice of you, thanks,” Danny scrunches up his nose, “I thought you and Derek were still in the irritatingly in love stage.”

“We were,” Stiles moans into his coffee cup, “Then I fucked up, and he’s going to break up with me.”

“Derek. Break up with you.” Danny snorts, “That seems highly unlikely, man, he’s head over heels with you. I’m pretty sure when I was over for Lydia’s birthday he didn’t take his eyes off you once.”

“That…” Stiles sighs, remembering said birthday. It had been awesome. He’d spent all night feeling Derek’s gaze on him, and they’d sneaked off twice to kiss hungrily in the bathroom. Jackson had gotten cross in the end, warning them not to defile his precious foreign soap collection, and Stiles had guiltily climbed off the wash basin and hidden the soap he’d blindly stuck a hand in. He wonders if Jackson’s found it, yet. He and Derek can get together and talk about how selfish and uncaring Stiles is about other people’s property.

“I don’t know how to be tidy,” he says finally.

Danny shuffles the night reports in front of him as Finstock lets himself into the pen, begins shouting at them all to get a move on.

“There,” he murmurs, gesturing to the now neat pile, “Easy peasy.”

“No, dude,” Stiles almost laughs, and gives his friend and partner a grateful look. “I know how, I just… Derek is  _tidy_.”

“So, if it’s important to him, make it important to you,” Danny rolls his eyes, “It’s not rocket science, Stiles.”

“I know that!” Stiles sighs again, rubs his face, “It doesn’t matter now, anyway, because I was a total dick to him, and he basically told me to get packing, so…”

“You had a fight,” Danny shrugs, “These things happen, even to you and Derek.”

“We fight!”

“No, you do this weird bickering that’s like foreplay for you guys. It’s both gross and endearing,” Danny smirks around his own coffee, “Mostly fun to watch Scott react to it. He looks so torn.”

“Dude,” Stiles groans, “Scott is so going to have to take Derek’s side. They’re related! Oh my god, what if Lydia makes me move out?”

“Would you relax? It’s one stupid fight.”

“But… I… I’ve never…” Stiles pulls a face, and understanding dawns on Danny’s face.

“You’ve always cut and run.”

“What? No! I just… I’ve never had someone around long enough to have a fight with, and… I took it too far.” Stiles switches off his phone with a grimace, “At least he can’t call and break up with me. He’ll have to wait till after my shift. And,” he snaps his fingers, “I can avoid him until dinner.”

“You’re going to hide.”

“Yep!” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “Fool proof.”

“You’re going to prevent Derek from breaking up with you, by hiding.”

“Uh huh, what’s the big deal? It’s genius.”

“It’s dumb,” Danny grabs the car keys, waves them around, “And, because you’re being dumb, and you’re distracted, I’m driving tonight.”

Stiles scowls, but follows him outside into the late evening, glances in the direction of their apartment block out of habit. He wonders if Derek’s home, yet. If he’s happy Stiles’ shit is no longer lying around for him to trip over. God, Derek’s next partner will probably be some sort of awful neat freak. Stiles will have to talk to them, and pretend to like them, and pine over Derek for the rest of his life.

“I’m going to mess up Derek’s apartment in the dead of night if he marries a neat freak,” he says suddenly.

Danny rolls his eyes again, grinning indulgently, “Would you quit it? He’s obviously in love with you, and if you’re too chicken to talk it out, Derek will at least grunt and shove until you both reach an understanding.”

“He doesn’t grunt,” Stiles begins, “Derek—”

Danny’s smile fades, and Stiles turns to see what he’s looking at, and sees a distressed man staggering up towards the precinct. There’s blood on his hands.

“Sir—”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” the man cries, and he lifts his hand to show a gun in it.

Stiles’ hand flies to his holster, pulling his own weapon out, “Put the gun down, sir.”

“I didn’t mean it! You have to believe me!”

“Sir!”

There’s the sound of footfall, people yelling, and half of the department comes running out of the doors, guns up.

“Put the weapon down, and put your hands behind your head.”

“I can’t,” the man points the gun straight at Stiles and Danny, “I just need it to be over—”

“Sir—”

He pulls the trigger, and Stiles hears Danny yell his name as something sharp hits his chest and he staggers backwards. There’s heavy gunfire, and he feels Danny’s hands under his arms, dragging him away.

“Ow,” he says stupidly as Danny drops him to the ground, hands flying all over his chest. “Der’k’s… Der’k’s gon be mad.”

“Stiles!” Danny rips off his Kevlar, pressing something to the pain in Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles blinks up at the stars.

“’S’pretty night, should… call Derek… ask him to go f’r a walk.”

“Okay, buddy, yeah, do that. Stay awake, tell me where you’d walk.”

“Park,” Stiles says faintly, feeling his eyes droop shut, “Derek likes… the park.”

“Stiles!”

He’s pretty sure Danny slaps his face. He’ll be mad about it later. He wishes Derek was here. Wishes they weren’t going to break up. He loves Derek.

“Der’k.”

Nobody replies.

*

“Stiles!” Derek bursts through the doors of the ER, and marches over to where Stiles is having his shoulder sewn up.

Stiles beams at him, feeling both relief at seeing his beautiful, frowny face, and then panics.

“No!” he points at Derek, “He’s not allowed back here!”

The nurse on duty twists to pull the curtains around without questioning him, and Stiles wonders just how many angry people she’s had stalking in and demanding to speak to people that don’t want to see them in order for her to do that so quickly.

“Stiles,” Derek growls through the curtain. “Stop being ridiculous.”

“You can’t come in,” Stiles insists, “You’re going to break up with me, and I don’t want you to!”

The nurse lowers the needle, arches an eyebrow, “Are you serious?” she asks, just as Derek takes another step towards the curtain.

“Stiles, for god’s sake, I’m not going to break up with you!”

“You sound like you are. You sound reallllly cross.”

“I am really cross! Do you know how it felt to come back to an empty apartment? To not have any of your stuff lying around and then to get a damn phone call from Danny saying you’d been shot? Stiles!” One of Derek’s hands grabs the curtain, twitches against it, “I thought… You could have died! And… You left my apartment empty!”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Stiles murmurs, “My stuff was cluttering up the place. ‘Sides you said so yourself, it’s  _your_  apartment.”

“God dammit,” Derek yanks back the curtain, appraises him, and Stiles does the same. He looks terrible, hair everywhere, jacket strewn, face ashen. He moves towards the gurney, and Stiles can’t help but let him. Tries and fails not to lean into Derek’s hands when he runs them over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “’M’sorry, I just,” he uses his free hand to grip Derek’s shirt, pull him closer, “Don’t want you to break up with me.”

Derek snorts, “So, you got yourself shot to avoid a serious, adult conversation?”

“Hey, I keep things interesting,” he protests, “You can’t get rid of me.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you, moron! I want to keep you!” Derek sits on the stool beside the gurney, takes Stiles’ hand and kisses it, “We had a fight.”

“Was a bad one,” Stiles slurs.

“No, it was our first,” Derek huffs, “And, we’re going to have them.”

“I don’t like them!”

“But, they’re going to happen. You’re…” Derek squeezes his fingers, “You’re a passionate person, and I’m…”

“ _Very_  passionate,” Stiles grins, tries to leer and probably fails if the unimpressed looks both the nurse and Derek give him are anything to go by. “What? Y’are.”

“Yeah, that’s my point,” Derek says softly, “We’ll fight, and then we’ll talk it over and then we’ll…”

“Have make up sex?”

Derek’s ears go pink, and he glances at the nurse, who looks away smirking, before rolling his eyes at Stiles, “Yes, okay? Probably.”

“Awesome, I hear it’s awesome,” Stiles settles back against the pillows, “I’ve never had it before.”

“You’ve…” Derek’s eyes go wide, “Of course,” he says quietly.

“What?” Stiles’ eyes snap open, “What’s that mean?”

“You’ve never been in an actual relationship long enough to have a fight, have you?”

“No,” Stiles huffs, “You’re the first, okay? And, I’m sorry I overreacted, but I don’t know how these things go, Derek. All I know is that you’re important, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever. You’re my first, congratulations. Are you happy?”

Derek smiles at him fondly, “Yes.”

“Oh, well,” Stiles goes for a casual tone, “Good, me too.” He turns to look at Derek shyly, arches an eyebrow, “Are we cool?”

“Yeah,” Derek squeezes his hand again, “Anything to stop you from getting yourself shot again.”

The nurse snorts, and then begins to tidy away, “He’s good to go.” She hands Derek Stiles’ meds, and Stiles tries to be affronted, but really Derek’s better at paying attention to instructions than him. Case in point, Derek is nodding along seriously as he helps Stiles stand, moves him into a nearby wheelchair.

“Let’s go home,” Derek says to him, kissing the top of his head, and Stiles sighs happily, before panicking.

He puts a foot down as they come to the exit, and Derek looks down at him, “What?”

“I don’t… You don’t have to look after me, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“But, you said home, and if I go home to your home then I might mess it up again and—”

“Stiles,” Derek comes to kneel in front of him, rests his hands on Stiles’ thighs, “I don’t actually mind that you sort of live with me.”

“You…don’t?”

“No, I like it,” Derek squints, looks away as his cheeks flush up, “You make it feel more like home than it ever was before.”

“So…”

“So, don’t leave your cereal bowls lying around.”

“Okay, I can do that. If you actually remind me about the shit that annoys you, don’t bottle it up, man. I can’t read your mind.”

Derek exhales sharply, looks back up at him, “Sometimes it feels like you can, and I forget that… You don’t know everything I’m thinking.”

Stiles beams at him, “Oh my  _god_ , we’re way too co-dependent.”

“Yeah,” Derek grins back, leans forward and kisses him, “Guess that means we’ll have to stay together after all.”

“Fine by me,” Stiles holds him in place for a moment, kisses him again, “I sort of like having a home with you.”

*

Derek hangs his jackets next to Stiles’ in the bathroom, and Stiles doesn’t always remember to tidy away his cereal bowls, but he never leaves the apartment without saying some version of _I love you_  to Derek.

 


	31. The One With Stiles In A Box

Derek comes home to a large freight box in the middle of the living room. Scott is sitting with his feet up against it, slowly eating cereal with what must be the most surly expression Derek has ever seen on his brother’s face. 

“Uh—”

“Derek!” The box yells, and Derek does not jump a foot in the air, or clutch his chest in shock. 

“Stiles?”

“Derek, run for your life!”

“Stiles, what are you—”

“Don’t talk to him,” Scott snaps, glowering down at the box, “He’s in there doing some  _thinking_.”

"Some thinking— Scott!” Derek stalks across the room, intent on letting Stiles out as panic rises in his stomach. “Are there even air holes in this thing?”

“Of course!” Scott jumps up and prevents him from getting to the box. “Don’t, man. I’ve got this under control, okay?”

“Why the hell is your best friend in a box?!”

“Derek,” Stiles croaks out, and when Derek glances over Scott’s shoulder, his little finger is poking out. “It’s okay, I’m fine, see? He has his reasons.”

“There is no reason big enough to put him in a box, Christ! Where did you even—Let him out.”

“No,” Scott huffs, “And, this is a serious matter between best friends; the definition of which Stiles is unsure about at the moment,” he directs towards the box. “And, is thinking about! Seriously! Without making knock knock jokes!”

Derek snorts to himself, because  _of course_  Stiles would make knock knock jokes, and then frowns, shakes his head. 

“You guys never fight, what the hell’s happened?” He feels his throat dry up as he thinks about the list of possible crimes Stiles could commit that would lead to Scott, the world’s most forgiving brother (even when Derek was going through his douchebag teenage years and once cut Scott’s hair in his sleep as revenge for him walking in on Derek jerking off), to punish Stiles in such an extreme manner. 

“He didn’t have— you know— with Allison?”

Stiles makes a noise torn between disgust and distress, bashes the box loudly. 

“Hey! Dick! I might have screwed up a little bit, but give me some credit! I would never, I’m with— I mean, we haven’t talked about it, but I figured… And, she’s Scott’s fiancée!" 

Derek fights off the hopeful flip of his stomach at Stiles’ vehement denial of doing anything with someone else. It would  _really_  suck. They haven’t even been on a real date, but fuck, it would break him. He’s been in love with Stiles,  _forever_. 

Okay, so, when Stiles was eleven and being an annoying kid that followed Derek around asking him if he knew any of the Backstreet Boys, or if Derek was planning on becoming an honorary member with the new leather jacket he’d bought himself, sure, he wasn’t in love with him then.

But, after. Oh shit, Stiles grew up  _good_.

Stiles opened Scott’s dorm room door to Derek the first weekend they all went to visit the boys, and Derek felt his knees go weak. Stiles was smiling easily, finally comfortable in his own skin, and making Derek feel too big for his. He was no longer the awkward, gangly kid that bothered Derek for years. Instead, he was the guy that lounged around in his underwear and had miles of legs that called out to Derek. He was the guy that picked Derek up at four in the morning when Kate threw him out, burned his shit right in front of him and he had nowhere to go, no one to call. Stiles had been one of four numbers he knew by heart, and had answered on the second ring. He’s been the constant in Derek’s life, the person he sought out at every party, the one that made him laugh even when he didn’t want to, refused to move for a millisecond when Derek fell asleep on him during the opening credits of Captain America, and didn’t complain until Scott told Derek the next day. Stiles had given him a soft smile, shrugged, and said he figured Derek needed the sleep. Then he’d added Derek also needed to shave and get a hair cut. 

It’s not like he’s always a sweet, caring person. He’s also an asshole. He winds Derek up, licks Derek’s spoon, kicks his shins under tables, flirts mercilessly with him, until Derek had snapped and pushed him up against the kitchen counter, and they’d fallen into bed together. They’d been a tangle of limbs and snark and clumsy hands, but it had been good, better than good. Derek had been with someone that knew him inside out, the confident, sarcastic, brash side of himself, and the secret awkward, still paranoid about looking like an idiot side of him. Stiles knew it all, took it in stride, pushed Derek’s legs apart with sure hands, kissed him like Derek was something worthy, something beautiful, touched him with reverence. 

Derek isn’t really comfortable with Stiles being in a box, and his brother being the reason why. He wanted at least two days between the best sex of his life, and the other shoe dropping. 

"This seems ridiculous,” he says finally, wants nothing more than to hook his finger round Stiles’ and reassure him everything’s going to be okay. “Nothing is too bad that—”

“You guys had sex!” Scott interrupts loudly. 

Derek freezes, “Uh.”

“You had sex, when it was the one thing Stiles promised he wouldn’t do!”

Derek blinks, feels a sharp, bright hurt at that, that maybe he was something Stiles laughed off, swore he’d never go near, wouldn’t want anything to do with—

“Don’t do it, Derek,” Stiles calls out, “Whatever you’re thinking, okay?”

Derek rolls his shoulders back, scowls at the box, “What the fuck’s he talking about, then? And, why did you make some sort of promise, the fuck, am I about to get Punk’d? Was this all a dare?” he adds in a quieter voice. “Stiles—”

“You weren’t a dare, dumbass! God,” Stiles must kick the box in frustration because it shudders, moves a few inches across the carpet, and Scott kicks it back. 

“Quit it! You were supposed to be quiet in there!” Scott twists back to Derek, “He’s always talking about how hot you are—”

“Because he is,” Stiles interjects, and Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Ever since we were kids, he’d always insist on following you around and he promised he wouldn’t screw with you. He promised! You’re my brother, and after everything with Kate—”

Derek glares darkly at him, but Scott shakes his head, gives him an earnest look. 

“— I didn’t want to see you get hurt. So, I made Stiles promise that you guys would never get drunk and do something stupid. And, then today he comes in here with a gigantic hickey on his neck—  _gross_ , by the way,” he adds in a slightly more childish tone. 

"Shut up!” Stiles cries shrilly, “I liked it!”

Derek cannot  _believe_  this is his life.

Scott kicks the box again, keeps staring at Derek, “And, you guys got drunk on New Year and totally screwed! I know you’ve got that weird tension, but now everything is out there and awkward, and my best friend will go away because you’re…” Scott waves an encompassing hand at them both, “ _You_  and you’ll both act like it wasn’t a big thing, and everyone has ruined everything by having sex!”

There’s a ringing silence in the apartment, and then Stiles sighs loudly as Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Stiles murmurs. 

Derek jerks his head up in horror as Scott swings around to stare at the box. 

“Oh my god, so you  _were_  doing it just to fuck around?” Scott’s face crumples, “ _Dude_.”

If Derek weren’t so devastated about Stiles perhaps just admitting to having slept with him for a joke, he’d be amused by the way Stiles and Scott can put so much emotion behind the word  _dude_.

“No! God damn, I’m  _crazy_  in love with your brother, dude.”

Derek trips backwards a little, catches hold of the back of the couch. Both he and Scott look at each other, and then Derek swallows, clears his throat. 

“What.”

“Yep,” Stiles lets out another sigh, “I know you think he’s always just been that idolized crush I kept on a pedestal, Scott, but he’s not. He’s  _so_ not. I know Derek. I know he has some god damn awful habits, and I know he’s got a temper, and I even know about his secret love of boring history documentaries, and I still really, really like him. I joked about it because…” There’s a pause, and then Stiles must shrug as there’s a shuffling of clothes from inside the box. “I didn’t think I ever had a real chance. The other night… It was amazing, and he was… and yeah, I came in excited because I wanted to tell you that finally… And, I know you freaked out, but it’s not, I mean, if Derek wants to…  I love him, okay? And, if you want me to stay in the box until you believe me, I will. Both of you,” he adds in a louder tone, like he doesn’t know Derek’s just heard every word of that. “You can decide when I’ve proved how serious I am.”

Scott’s face has been steadily brightening, and now he’s full on  _beaming_ at Derek. 

Derek rolls his eyes, tries not to smile back. 

"Oh, crap,” Scott claps his hands together and launches himself at Derek before Derek can stop him. 

“Ah, Scott—”

“Finally” Scott gives him a bone crushing hug, before spinning and ripping the top off the box, “Dude! I’m so sorry I didn’t think you were serious!”

Stiles pops up grinning at him, “In fairness, I probably shouldn’t have led with  _guess who boned your brother into the new year_.”

Scott throws his head back laughing, as Derek covers his face with his hands. 

They’re still hugging when he peeks through his fingers a moment later, and he makes a noise of disdain. 

“So, do you two need a minute alone in the box?”

Both of them turn to smile at him; Scott, brimming with excitement; Stiles biting his lip, suddenly seeming nervous. 

“I don’t know, you know, you might prefer me in there.”

Derek huffs, points at Stiles, then at himself and then down to his feet. Stiles lets out a strangled laugh and moves to jump out of the box, trips over the top and falls into Derek’s arms. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, looking up at Derek sheepishly. “That wasn’t exactly smooth of me, sorry.”

Derek shrugs, “You were in a box the first time you told me you loved me, I don’t think anyone could ever be convinced you were a particularly smooth person in general.”

Stiles scrunches up his nose at him, “But, you love me too, regardless, right? Otherwise, I might just  _live_  in the box until you decide you really need me in your life and come get me and—”

Derek kisses him, Scott crows in the background, dances around the box. 

“I love you, too,” Derek tells Stiles after a moment, brushes their noses together. “Although, you really need to shower; you smell like you’ve been cooped up in a box—”

Stiles groans and reels him in by the collar of his sweater, kisses him again. 


	32. The One With The Princess Leia Fantasy

Over the summer, Allison recuperates from her break up with Scott by wandering through the apartment in sweats and a pint of ice cream in her hand at all times. Scott takes up running. Lydia dates a cop, gets bored of the cop, and starts trying to convince Allison to let her cut her hair. Derek and Stiles have to spend a lot of time comforting Allison on the couch– Derek is a good room-mate like that, and Stiles likes to be with Derek, ergo, has to go running with Scott, but then gets to recuperate on the couch– they all watch a _lot_ of daytime television.

September hits, and Stiles is the fittest he’s been since college—and believe him when he says Derek _really_ digs the muscles, his boyfriend’s always been pretty damn enthusiastic about his body, but let’s just say he’s enjoying Stiles’ new found stamina—though, he also has painful eyes, all the time.

He blames Shark Week. And, Allison, a _little_ bit. It’s not like it’s _her_ fault she’s sad about Scott (Scott’s great, who _wouldn’t_ be sad they’re yet again, on a break), but every time he and Derek even implied they might leave—have some alone time together, _adult time_ you might say— she pulled out the _sad eyes_. She made Stiles feel guilty for wanting to hole up in Derek’s bedroom until the heat of August wore off; clothing optional. Instead, he had to watch people scream for Oprah whilst wishing it was him making Derek scream.

Stiles much preferred Scott’s way of dealing with the break up; he has muscle definition, now! He even has abs! _Sort of_.

Allison’s version of healing has left him squirming in the waiting room at the eye doctor’s, wishing Derek was with him to hold his hand. Derek is stuck at home, currently, trying to convince Allison to shower. They managed to get her into the bathroom, yesterday, but then she spotted Derek’s shaving cream— which just so happened to also be Scott’s brand— and dissolved into tears.

This is why Derek should _never_ shave; it’s for the good of _everyone_.

“Mr Stilinski?” The receptionist looks up and smiles warmly, “You can go in, now.”

Stiles squints at the door ahead of him, “Uh, what if I can’t see it?”

The receptionist smirks, “Just walk straight ahead.”

He opens his mouth to argue again, but his phone chimes with a message.

(12:44pm) Derek: _GET YOUR EYES FIXED, LOSER._

(12:45pm) Derek: _and there will be a reward for you, later._

Stiles beams down at his phone, and then rolls his shoulders back, “Alright, let’s do this.”

He promptly marches into the wrong door, and gets shouted at by a testy woman trying to put contact lenses in for the first time.

*

“Greetings times four!” Stiles yells as he lets himself into Allison and Derek’s an hour later.

Both Allison and Derek look up from where they’re mid wrestling match.

Allison is wrapped in a towel and clearly trying to lie down on the floor; Derek has a soaking wet shirt and a very angry, red face.

His expression morphs to one of surprise as his gaze settles on Stiles, hands going limp from where they’re wrapped around a hair dryer and mouth falling open.

“Uh,” Stiles pushes his new glasses up his nose, quirks an eyebrow, “The joke is that I now have four eyes, get it?”

Allison looks between Stiles and Derek—still unmoving—and grins for the first time all summer, “I think he gets it.” She stands using Derek’s arm as leverage, and snatches the hair dryer from him. “Thanks for trying to look after me, dope, but I can take it from here. You should go take that,” she gestures at Stiles, “While I turn the hair dryer on full, for like an hour.”

“Don’t over heat it,” Derek mumbles, leaning into the kiss on the cheek Allison gives him.

“You’re such a nerd,” Stiles teases, “Even when you’re incapable of any other words; you still gotta make sure people are using electrical appliances safely.”

“’S’for the safety of the building,” Derek crosses the apartment to Stiles slowly, still staring at his glasses. “I don’t want it going anywhere for a while.”

“Oh,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “You got plans?”

“Uh huh,” Derek goes to reach out and then stops himself, lifts an eyebrow of his own. “What did the doctor say?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Just the usual; I strained ‘em way too much during my youth; need to start using light when I read; I’m getting old and broken, basically.”

Derek huffs indignantly, “You’re neither, and these are… very… you look like a— a—” he pauses, wets his lips, and Stiles feels himself start to tingle all over.

“A….?”

“A librarian.”

Stiles goes still, cocks his head to one side, “What.”

“I have a—” Derek’s cheeks start to flush and he clears his throat, looks away for a moment before his gaze being seemingly drawn right back to Stiles’ face. “You look like a librarian, yes.”

“A librarian,” Stiles says flatly, “So, now I’m not just old and broken, but also boring and stuffy?”

“ _Yes_ , a _librarian_ , but no, not those other things; besides, librarians come in all shapes and sizes, Stiles, don’t be librarian—ist.” Derek snarks, clearly forgetting his embarrassment for a moment as he defends librarians everywhere. Stiles is in love with such a _nerd_.

“Librarian—ist?”

“It’s a thing,” Derek snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, you know, I have always liked it when, you’re being intelligent and, serious and I uh, I think this is a— I have thought about you as… Librarian is good, uh, for…”

Realization dawns on Stiles, and he bounces up on his toes excitedly, “Oh my god! You have a librarian _me_ fantasy?!”

Derek blinks up at him; hands stuck under his armpits and completely closed in on himself as he scowls at the floor.

“Is that—”

“Oh my god, that’s awesome!” Stiles leaps towards him, throws an arm over Derek’s shoulders and leans in until Derek has to open his arms to support him. “Unless… are you embarrassed about the _me_ part, or the librarian part?” he asks seriously.

Derek rolls his eyes, melting into Stiles in obvious relief non the less, “I’ve been on a date with you where you wore basketball shorts and a _FRANKIE SAYS_ _RELAX_ t-shirt, but _sure_ , having a fantasy about you is what I’m embarrassed about.”

“Don’t get sarcastic on me, baby, you were the one actin’ all edgy around me and these new bad boys,” Stiles wiggles his fingers around the glasses.

He shifts in Derek’s arms, gives him a slow smile, “So, come on, tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Derek says immediately, “I just like the glasses.”

“I’ve known you nearly _two_ decades, Derek. I knew it was you that stole your dad’s porn collections, and I so knew it was you that broke the porch swing, now come on! You can’t lie to me.”

Derek begins to blush again, his ears going red, and Stiles smirks.

“Oh man, was about me getting bossy? Like, you lost a book and I’m gonna punish you, or— oh!” He snaps his fingers, “Did we meet in one of the aisles after hours, and I was trying so hard to be good, but damn your seduction was better than a whole pile of classics? Did we do it in front of Lydia’s book?”

“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to make up ridiculous fantasies, all night?”

“Both!” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, tugs him towards the bedroom, “Now, be honest, do I call you Mr Hale? Do I write you library fines that you tear up and then throw me down on top of? Take me right there in the front entrance of the library where all the books can see?”

Derek chases him across the apartment and Stiles laughs delightedly, his glasses falling askew as they tumble into the bedroom. Derek leans him up against the door, buries his face in Stiles’ neck for a moment. Stiles keens, arches into him breathlessly.

“Take your pants off.”

“That’s not very professional of you,” Derek murmurs, following up his words with a slow, long kiss to Stiles’ pulse point. His fingers make quick work of Stiles’ belt, and Stiles makes a pleased noise when his jeans fall to the floor.

“So, you want me to talk Dewey Decimal system to you?” he asks as hurries to get rid of Derek’s sweats, “You’re my favorite theme of classification one hundred and twenty eight.”

Derek jerks his head back, and his eyes are glazed as he stares across at Stiles, “You—you know the classifications?”

“Oh my god, I had no idea how big a thing this was for you,” Stiles beams at him, curls his fingers in Derek’s sweater, “So, you got my reference?”

There’s a pause as Derek thinks for a moment, his own hands stroking slow, lazy circles over Stiles’ hips.

“Something in Epistemology.”

“Now _that_ , my friend, is some A plus dirty talk, right there.”

Derek rolls his eyes, leans in to kiss him quickly before tugging him over to the bed.

“Tell me, then.”

“Humankind,” Stiles clambers into Derek’s lap, removing his t-shirt as he does. “You’re my _favorite_ part of humankind.”

Derek goes still beneath him, his expression morphing into something soft and awe struck as he looks up at Stiles.

Stiles blinks back at him self-consciously, “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says hurriedly, loops his arms around Stiles thighs and yanks until they’re horizontal on the bed, and every part of Stiles is touching Derek. He can feel the tremor Derek gets in his leg when he’s turned on, the rapid beat of his heart against Stiles’ chest, his breath coming quick against Stiles’ lips.

“I just love you,” Derek murmurs, still looking at him intensely, “Very much.”

Stiles runs a hand down Derek’s face, “And, I love you, too.” He scrunches up his nose as his glasses slip down, grins at the way Derek’s gaze snaps to them, “Even with your vanilla as hell kinks.”

Derek smirks, “Like yours are _that_ wild.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs casually, “I’d say one or two of them come a little higher up the ladder of extreme, well… in comparison to a glasses kink.”

“I’m never telling you anything again,” Derek huffs, dropping his head back on the pillow and throwing an arm over his face.

“Hey, no! There’s nothing wrong with it, seriously! I am one hundred per cent on board this train, dude. I am totally gonna plan out an elaborate library scene for you in a minute, just—”

He grapples with Derek’s sweater sleeve, trying to pry his hand away from his face, “Derek! Come on! Safe space!”

Derek moves suddenly, twists until Stiles is flat on his back, and on his side of the bed. He preens, stretches his hands up high as Derek presses into him.

“This I’m fully behind, too,” he sticks his tongue between his teeth, wiggles his eyebrows again, “Get it, I’m fully—”

“Tell me yours,” Derek interrupts quietly.

Stiles swallows, “Tell you what?”

Derek hums, brushes their noses together, “Like you say, Stiles, we’ve known each other a long time. I know you.” He trails his finger down Stiles’ inner wrist gently, and it makes Stiles shiver. “I know you liked it when we used those handcuffs, liked it when I held you down, just a little.” He presses his weight into Stiles and Stiles groans, tries to get some friction going, but Derek doesn’t move, holds him still. “You like that.”

“Well, duh!” Stiles huffs indignantly, “I generally like anything involving you naked and me being on the way to a damn good orgasm.”

Derek smirks, wraps his hands around Stiles’ wrists, “That’s not all, though. I know you like the idea of getting caught more than you’d ever admit.”

“That is not—”

“I’m not the one that initiates sex on the couch, Stiles.”

“Pfft, it’s not like you ever say no.”

“I don’t mind anyone seeing you’re mine, or that I’m yours,” Derek shrugs, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Your brother will be happy to hear that. Especially considering all the times he’s actually walked in on us.”

Derek’s lazy, almost casual arousal (something he’s always managed to pull off far better than Stiles, who can never pretend he’s nonchalant about the idea of sex with Derek) vanishes as he stops to scowl at Stiles.

“Do you have to bring Scott up, now?”

“I didn’t mean to! God, it’s not like I picture his face when we’re having sex or anything!”

Derek sits up so fast Stiles is amazed he doesn’t topple off the bed.

“And, there goes my erection for life,” Derek says drily, trying to climb off Stiles’ legs.

“Dude, no, come on—I don’t actually _see_ Scotty when I am ever in the mood. You are so sensitive—come on,” he cries as Derek starts to re-tie his sweats and leave the bed vicinity altogether.

“No, no, that’s not in the plans! Just—” Stiles wraps his knees around Derek’s, tries to jerk him back to the bed. Derek loses his balance, collapses with a sharp elbow to Stiles’ solar plexus and Stiles yelps, twists away and head butts the head board. Derek attempts to catch his own weight with his hands to the pillows, but instead sinks into them and they’re both left wheezing in a tangle of limbs.

“God!” Stiles moans, rubbing his chest, “We’re like an advert for safe sex.”

“Or, one in favor of abstinence,” Derek retorts, voice muffled by the sheets.

His shoulders are tense as Stiles looks at him, and Stiles sighs, reaches out to stroke Derek’s shoulder. “Derek—hey, Derek—”

Derek groans, but leans into Stiles’ touch, “ _Yes,_ what can I do for you, Stiles?”

“I like it when you use proper grammar in texts.”

Derek opens his eyes and looks up at Stiles from where he’s half strewn across the bed.

“What.”

“I like it so much, _sometimes_ it gets me worked up,” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, emboldened suddenly, and twists to kneel in front of him. “I like it when you use fancy words—even when I tease you about it—and I love it when you try _polite_ dirty talk. Seriously. I find it endearing—”

“That’s not exactly sexy—”

“Shut _up_ , it is to me! I like that you try. I like that you’re always open to the shit I wanna do, and I think for someone that was hurt, you know,” Stiles squeezes his fingers, “It means the world to me that you let yourself be vulnerable with me.”

Derek quirks a soft smile at him, squeezes his fingers back, “I trust you.”

“And, that is… better than any kink, okay? I don’t care if you have no kinks, and I should _not_ have laughed before—”

“No,” Derek sighs, “It _is_ a stupid one.”

“Star Wars,” Stiles blurts out, wincing and scrunching his eyes shut tight so he doesn’t have to see Derek’s reaction. “Specifically, Princess Leia… In the uh, you know, the gold bikini.”

There’s silence, and he opens one eye to gauge Derek’s reaction.

Derek’s looking at him thoughtfully, and Stiles swallows hard.

“What, is that—is that a breaking point?”

Derek snorts, “No, I was just going to say, how cliché.”

“Fucker!” Stiles punches him in the shoulder, tries not to laugh as Derek sits up, too, curls his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him in close.

They kiss, and Stiles is still trying to insult him, still half laughing and arguing into Derek’s mouth; exactly the way he likes it best.

“You’re a dick.”

Derek smirks, slides one hand down Stiles’ chest and curls it around Stiles’ cock, “Uh huh.”

“I mean it.”

“Mmmm.”

Stiles thrusts into Derek’s hand, uses his own to divest Derek of his sweater and his vest, “I am annoyed at how hot and smug you are, right now.”

“Welcome to my life,” Derek murmurs.

“Oh, really?” Stiles smiles brightly, “You think I’m—oh god, keep going.”

“And, just like that you’re a bossy librarian,” Derek teases.

“I _hate_ you,” Stiles continues, rocking harder into Derek’s hand nonetheless.

“Would you still hate me if I wore that gold bikini for you, some time?”

Stiles comes, faster than he has in at least a year. Since the time he and Derek did it in a phone booth in London. He blames it on being keyed up, on Derek’s face from the moment he walked into the apartment with his new glasses, on the fact they’ve been arguing in bed for at least half an hour and it’s his favorite thing to do.

Seriously!

Arguing with Derek is one thing, but in bed, too?

It’s not his fault.

It’s nothing to do with the idea of Derek in a gold bikini just like Leia’s.

*

A few days later, and there’s a package on the bed with Derek’s name on it. Stiles has a conniption, and has to go to work knowing it’s there. He has to talk to humans, knowing there are two Star Wars costumes waiting for him at home, and a hot ass boyfriend willing to dress up for him, for the fantasy he’s harbored since he was twelve freaking years old, and pretend like everything is normal.

He may accidentally knock someone over in his haste to get home.

“Okay,” Stiles dances from foot to foot as he sets up the stereo. “It’s ready.”

“I can’t believe you teased me when I had a _momentary_ thing for your glasses,” Derek muses from the couch, “When you’ve obviously been planning this for years.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Stiles hisses, hitting play so that the glorious soundtrack music for _Return of the Jedi_ starts up. “John Williams is a _god_ ,” he murmurs, turning to face Derek.

This is it; he thinks as he adjusts the plastic lightsaber he’s had since fifth grade, the _greatest_ moment of his life.

Derek folds his arms as he appraises Stiles.

“You realize Han Solo never used a light saber, right?”

“I’ve got my gun, too!” Stiles pats the side of his costume; to where the gun is holstered. “I am Han Solo, but with a light saber; I’m even cooler than the original.”

“Blasphemy,” Derek teases.

“Shut up and take your shirt off,” Stiles demands, “I know what you’ve got on underneath there, and it is of the most import that I see. I need this,” he exhales sharply, “Like, this is the best moment of my life, Derek.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow, “Better than the first time we had sex?”

“Yes! It was awkward and we were drunk! I think I even embarrassed myself by yelling sex with Derek, ah woohoo, at some point!”

“I remember that,” Derek grimaces.

“Hey, you and I banged three times that night, so, you were kinda charmed.”

“Sure, it was adorable.”

“Stop stalling and show me the goods, Derek!”

Derek rolls his eyes, but slowly tugs his shirt over his head, and Stiles sucks in a sharp breath.

There’s suddenly a loud banging from outside the apartment door.

“Go away!” Stiles yells, “Whoever it is, we’re in the middle of something! Something very important!”

“Stiles,” Derek chides, “It could be important.”

“No, we’ve come too far,” Stiles whines, “I can see the drapes!” He points to Derek’s sides, where there are indeed purple drapes peeking out from under his sweats. “Come on!”

The banging continues, “Stilinski! Hale! Open this door, now!”

“For god’s sake,” Stiles marches across the living room and yanks the door wide, “What?!”

Chris Argent draws up short from where he was pounding on the door, takes in Stiles’ attire. Derek hurries over to behind Stiles, tugging on his shirt as he does.

“Mr Argent—”

Chris holds up a hand, staring at them both stonily, “Where’s Scott.”

“Uh, he doesn’t live here,” Stiles manages, painfully aware of his Han Solo wig, and wishing it wasn’t making his damn scalp sweat so much. It’s an Argent thing, too; Allison’s entire _family_ stresses him out.

“Clearly,” Chris gives them both a disdainful look, “And, has Allison fled the building because of… whatever _this_ is?”

“What? No,” Derek baulks, pushes in front of Stiles, “This is none of your business, and Allison is just across the hall!” He gestures to Lydia and Stiles’ apartment, “She’s having a girl’s night.”

As he’s speaking, Allison opens Lydia’s door looking inquisitive, “Dad! I thought I heard your voice.”

She glances over at Stiles and Derek, and bites her lip on a laugh. Stiles flips her the bird behind Chris’ head, and then hides his hand hastily; he doesn’t want Chris to chop it off, or anything; he needs his fingers!

“Baby,” Chris hurries over, draws her into a hug, “I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m fine,” Allison promises, but she melts into him, and Stiles can relate, no matter how old he is, he still sometimes needs a hug from his dad.

“You want me to shoot McCall?”

Allison snorts, rolls her eyes (she’s the only person in the world who doesn’t think Chris would actually shoot Scott, seriously), “Dad, no, come on,” she takes his hand and pulls him past Derek and Stiles. “I’ll make some tea.”

She gives them both an apologetic look, and Stiles shakes his head to let her know it’s fine.

He turns off the music as he and Derek head to the bedroom, catches Allison smirking at Derek and waving two bagels around beside her ears.

 _Derek’s_ ears go bright pink, and Stiles pushes him into the bedroom and shuts the door with a snap.

“Oh my god, Chris Argent ruined the best moment of my life. I may never get it up again.”

Derek tilts his head to one side, considers him for a moment, “I don’t know about that, I mean, I know we don’t have the music, but you can play it in your head, right?”

Stiles feels his mouth fall open, “You mean—”

“Mhm,” Derek whips off his shirt again, rolls back his shoulders as he gives Stiles a cocky look. “I love you.”

“Fuuuckkkk,” Stiles breathes out.

“That’s not the line,” Derek reproaches, kicking off his sweats to reveal the rest of his outfit.

“I know,” Stiles manages in a strangled voice.

“Say it like you mean it, you scoundrel.”

“ _Scoundrel_ , oh god, I’m gonna die,” Stiles clutches his chest, steps over to Derek and traces a hand over his chest, “You’re the _best,_ most wonderful guy.”

Derek smiles widely, “I know.”

Stiles, fortunately, _does_ manage to get it up.

He claims the force was with him. Derek pretends to go deaf until Stiles gives up making Star Wars puns.

They can never watch _Return of the Jedi_ with their friends again, though. That one’s just for them.


	33. The One With The Cake

“Allison, it’s been hours, can we _please_ go?”

“In a minute, I just want you to say something for Leila’s birthday message,” Allison settles opposite Stiles and Derek, gives them both a bright smile; neither of them return it. “For goodness sake, there will be time for other trips; you guys are acting like toddlers.”

“We don’t have time for other trips,” Stiles says through his teeth. “We booked this six months ago, and it was the first weekend we had available.”

“Do you know how many times we’ve been to the museum for a function Scott’s been in charge of since? Eleven times, Allison.”

“It’s not my fault he’s passionate about his work, guys. And, you two were late to visit our new born daughter because you were having sex in a janitor’s closet!”

“Look, it was an emotional day for all of us, and Derek was all… He just looked happy and excited, and you know I can’t resist that, okay? You know that! It wasn’t my fault.”

“It’s not like we’ve had the chance to have sex since,” Derek adds sourly. “Seeing as we’ve been on babysitting duty _permanently_.”

“And, we’re here, now, waiting for this party to finish.”

“Which you promised us it would, six hours ago.”

“There was an issue with the cake! Because of the place _you_ recommended, Stiles,” Allison tosses her hair back, glares at him, “Thanks for the heads up on what sort of bakery it was, by the way, I went in totally clueless.”

“ _Hey_ , if I wanna take a sexy picture of myself and stick on a cake for my man, I’m not going to feel guilty. Derek loves his cake.”

“I didn’t need to see the thing right there waiting to be picked up, too.”

“You were going! It seemed pointless to make two trips! I refuse to feel bad for trying to keep the magic in my sex life alive. You lost out, anyway, with me on that frosting; should see _Derek_ on a cake.”

“Derek is sitting right here,” Derek moans in a mortified voice.

“Nobody cares about your weird cake fetish,” Allison dismisses easily, opening up the camera, “Now, say something sweet and heartfelt to my daughter, for her birthday.”

“Hi Leila, happy eighteenth birthday!” Stiles says in a flat voice, “I’m talking to you using technology you’ll have never even heard of! Because your mom’s a crazy person that thinks you won’t be using an iPhone and letting Apple dictate your entire life by the year twenty twenty. I’m your uncle Stiles.”

“And, I’m Derek.”

Both Stiles and Derek give short, abrupt waves to the camera. They turn to look at one another, and Stiles nudges his shoulder gently against Derek’s. Derek’s glare (the one he’s not lost all day) softens for a brief moment, and then they both return their gaze to the camera and scowl.

Stiles tilts his head to one side and gives a wistful smile. “You’re probably confused about who we are, as we haven’t seen or spoken to your parents in _seventeen_ years. We used to live with them, laugh, love, share moments, but then! They took away our chance at having one _tiny_ moment to ourselves. They knew we had plans for a romantic weekend away; they’d heard me book the hotel; they’d seen Derek write up the itinerary and start to plan our suitcase packing; they _knew_.”

“We didn’t do it on purpose,” Allison intervenes, turning the camera on herself, “Sweetie, your mom and dad can’t help it if they just wanted the whole family here for your birthday, no matter how moody and cross they are about it.”

“The birthday you won’t even remember,” Derek cuts in, “And, in case your parents forget to tell you this in the years to come; we weren’t being selfish about this. We planned to stay for your party, and then leave afterwards.”

“Derek’s a planner, Leila,” Stiles gives Derek a fond look and then snaps back to the camera, “But, you won’t know that, because we’re not friends with them anymore.”

“They don’t even get Christmas cookies.”

“And, Derek’s Christmas cookies are to die for; you’re missing out, kid,” Stiles taps his chin, “If you’re suddenly craving cookies, send us a sign; a message in the sky maybe! And, we’ll mail you some in secret— don’t tell your dad— he’s not allowed any.”

Derek arches an eyebrow at Stiles, “Wow, withholding baking privileges from your best friend, this _is_ serious.”

“I _am_ serious, babe!” Stiles cries vehemently, gestures at the camera, “Look, Leila, you’re a great baby, okay? Really, I like you a lot; and, you sort of make the whole idea of having kids slightly less…. Terrifying. I mean, before your uncle Derek I was a freaking mess with commitment. I didn’t even have a house plant, or make weekend plans!”

“That’s because the only people you make plans with live _with_ you or  _across the hall_ from you,” Derek murmurs.

“Besides the point, _dear_. I was giving you a compliment? About how much you _changed_ me and made me want to be a better man and _commit_ to you?”

Derek hides his face for a moment, resurfaces with pink cheeks and bright eyes.

“I even figured hey! Kids! How scary can that be? This is sort of easy. Maybe mine won’t be that bad; I can’t screw them up too much if they got half of Derek in them, he likes me , they might, too. And, that Leila’s pretty cute; and she’s got _awful_   parents.”

“Stiles!”

“You said I should speak from the heart, Allison; well, this is it!” Stiles points at the camera again, “Your parents? They took away our weekend trip. Now, that might not seem like a lot. You might be judging us; hell, I’d be judging us. But, I promise we _needed_ it. We’re stretched thin, Leila. And, we’re not petty people.”

“We’re really not,” Derek agrees.

“We give to charity; we go to the endless, boring lectures your dad does.”

“You’ve probably had to see a few; you know the type we’re talking about.”

“The bones and the fossils.”

“The evenings spent making small talk, with _people_.”

“Derek _hates_ small talk, Leila. And people.”

“I do. I hate people. Except you,” Derek leans into Stiles, squeezes his hand, “I don’t hate you.”

“That’s right, at least… You didn’t,” Stiles gives the camera a stern look as he twines his fingers through Derek’s. “But, that all changed. We…” he gives an exaggerated sigh, “ _We_ changed.”

“We just wanted a weekend away. We needed that time together. He’s a cop,” Derek thumbs his free hand at Stiles. “He saves lives, protects people, he’s the best at it. And, sometimes he brings it home with him; it keeps him up at night. He needed a break.”

“And, this guy?” Stiles throws his arm over Derek’s knees, still holding his hand. “Works his ass off, kid. We both do, and it means we have _so little_ time together. We have to reconnect every night. And, do we get time for that? With the people coming and going in our apartment, demanding Derek feed them, that we help them move couches with the pivoting and the _lifting_ and the _sliding_ , that I listen to them rant about being on a break, not on a break—”

Allison clears her throat, narrowing her eyes at both of them.

“We’re not jerks, okay? We’re happy to be good friends, and sure, your parents have been okay friends, too. They’ve maybe helped us get through a couple of issues.”

“Getting you to the alter,” Allison coughs into her hand, and Stiles flushes, not so subtly flips her off.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him, “Did someone have to shove you out onto the floor?”

“No, you know, I told you! I panicked about letting you down; you should be with someone awesome; you said I was awesome; we had amazing sex in the cloakroom at the reception.”

“Stiles!”

“Relax; we can edit that bit out.”

“I’m not showing my daughter _any_ of this.”

“Then what’s the point of us still talking to you?!”

“So you can say something nice to Leila on her eighteenth birthday,  _especially_ ,” Allison adds with gritted teeth, “If it’s the first words she’s going to hear from you in seventeen years.”

Stiles shoots her an amused grin, waves his hands in the air, “Fine; you want some words of wisdom, kid? It’s all about the love. Find someone you love, someone you trust enough to keep a jellyfish story to themselves and never judges you for your crazy fear of dogs and lock them down. Tell them the truth; that you’re a total loser— ”

“My daughter is not a loser, Stiles!”

“Not Leila, this is obviously about me, duh! _I’m_ the loser. But, I was the one lucky enough… Find someone that makes you feel lucky you love them. They make you feel lucky. Then get over your chicken shit issues and marry their fine ass.”

“Exactly,” Derek dead pans in agreement, “Marry their fine ass.”

Stiles preens, elbows Derek, “See, Leila? You need someone that’s got your back. You need a whole lot of friends, like platonic friends that you maybe once had a crush on for a day or burst in on in the shower, once—”

Derek clears his throat as Allison groans, starts miming at Stiles to wrap it up.

He rolls his eyes at her, gives the camera a meaningful look, “You should marry someone you’d call your friend, too. Derek’s one of my best friends. He once put a turkey on his head to make me laugh.”

“Oh god,” Derek murmurs.

“We’re in _love_ ,” Stiles points between them, “Just in case you think we weren’t capable of such emotion considering we’re bitching about being at a child’s birthday party. I don’t care that Derek can’t help but get competitive about everything; even trying to race me up the stairs, or to finish brushing his teeth first.”

“That is not my fault, you take _forever_.”

“Dental hygiene is important! You have cleaning stuff for your cleaning stuff! Would you want to kiss me if I had bad breath? If you knew I hadn’t taken the time to floss?”

“I always want to kiss you.”

“ _Wanted_ ,” Stiles points at the camera again, “This is all past tense, kiddo. Because, we didn’t get a chance to reconnect; we didn’t get that time to ourselves. I forgot what it felt like to spend the night, _by myself_   with my husband, because of _you!”_

Allison sighs and snaps the camera shut, “Guys!”

“We haven’t had sex in months,” Derek huffs, “How do you expect us to be cheerful.”

“You’re _never_ cheerful,” she snaps back, “I was just hoping for a little effort on my daughter’s first birthday.”

“Allison, babe,” Stiles clicks his tongue, “We’ve been here all day. What else do you want from us?”

“Our blood, our will to live, our _marriage_ ,” Derek mutters.

Allison clears her throat, and Derek rolls his eyes, folds his arms, “What? I’m supposed to be getting laid; not leaving ridiculous messages for a teenager that won’t even watch this.”

“Derek!” Allison cries shrilly, “This is important! And, don’t say things like that on the birthday message.”

“It might be the last time I _ever_ say it, or have it,” he adds darkly. “Leila will probably be having—”

“Alright, fine! I give up.” Allison stands and throws the camera at Stiles. He catches it, even as he’s laughing and looking at Derek fondly.

Allison stalks over to where Scott’s messing with the birthday cake for Leila, sending them both a glower over her shoulder and much more subtly flipping them off as she smiles brightly at Scott.

“Shit,” Derek sighs, rubbing his face as he sits back on the couch. “Were we just major assholes?”

“Maybe,” Stiles squishes his finger and thumb together, “Just a smidge.”

“They brought a _clown_ ,” Derek waves in the direction of the clown; currently trying to hit on an unimpressed Erica. “Scott knows I hate clowns; you can’t see their faces! You don’t know what they’re thinking.”

“We all know what that guy’s thinking,” Stiles snickers, as the clown leans closer in to Erica, staring at her cleavage.

Erica shoves the clown’s face away from her, dusts off her hands, “Can we please do the cake? I have a date, later and I plan on getting lucky.”

“Someone should,” Stiles mutters darkly.

Derek snorts, sits back on the couch to shove up close to Stiles and rest his chin on Stiles’ shoulder.

Allison rolls her eyes at them, “Even when you’re mad you’re both smug and gross.”

Leila rolls over Derek’s feet, waves her hands in the air in a silent demand to be picked up. Derek scoops her up in his arms, rests her on his lap.

“You will never be as bad as them, will you?”

“Hell no,” Stiles leans over to run a hand through her soft hair, “We’ll teach you; we’ll make sure you’re awesome, and cool.”

“Because you’re the epitome of cool,” Derek says drily.

“Hey, I won you over, didn’t I?” Stiles knocks their knees together, winks at Leila, “I was so smooth with him; talked about him being beautiful and smart and boom, five years later he was hooked.”

Derek snorts, tugs Leila in closer.

“I want one,” Stiles confesses, still rubbing his hand over Leila’s hair, twirling a piece of it between his fingers.

Derek hums, shoots him a look, “I know; me too.”

“I know you do, jeez,” Stiles beams at him, “You’ve had that on broadcast for ten years.”

Derek punches him on the shoulder with his free hand, “Dick.”

“Hey, speaking of,” Stiles jerks his head over to his old bedroom; the one Lydia’s currently storing her coats and handbags in. “We could slip in there, maybe I could give you a special birthday present.”

“Well, when you put it so charmingly, how can I resist.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you said when we first hooked up,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at Derek, “You’re still falling for the old Stilinski charm, _baby_ , and you know it.”

“I do,” Derek agrees easily.

Stiles goes still, gives him a warm look before he bites his lip, “Are we gonna be okay? I know we’ve stayed, and that was the right thing to do, but… you and me. We really… We never get time; we never have moments, anymore.”

Derek shrugs, quirks a smile at him, “I think we’re having one, right now.”

“Ugh,” Stiles pretends to push his hand in Derek’s face, melts into him when Derek grabs his fingers and kisses them quickly. “You’re gross, we’re gross.”

“We’re awesome,” Derek dismisses easily. “We’ve got _love_ , remember?”

“I hate you, stop this.”

“Allison,” Derek waves his sister in law over, points at the abandoned camera, “Let’s get this over with, quickly.”

“That’s what he said,” Stiles mutters.

Derek elbows him, hard.

“Ahhhhhey again eighteen year old Leila!” Stiles throws his arm over Derek’s shoulders, waves at the camera. “You know us as your uncle Stiles and uncle Derek, the awesome ones that live next door.”

“We don’t live next door,” Derek corrects quickly, “I love my brother, but I don’t get much time with my husband as it is, and if he lived next door to your dad; I’d _never_ see him.”

“Nonsense, I’d come home after game night, lil’ drunk, feel you up a lil’ bit.”

Allison sighs, “Are you _serious_?”

“Oh, like she doesn’t see this stuff from us all the time,” Stiles rolls his eyes, winks at the camera, “You get it, kid. You’ve seen the love. You’re surrounded by it, all the time I bet, and I hope you know how important you are to your parents, to _all of us_. You make us very happy, and we just want to wish you the happiest of birthdays.”

“And, many happy years to come,” Derek adds.

“For all of us,” Stiles continues.

“Forever.”

“Right.”

“Uh huh.”

“Exactly, sugar.”

“Don’t call me sugar on tape.”

“Okay.”

Allison lowers the camera, “Are you guys fighting over who gets the last word, here?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

Derek stands abruptly, hands Leila to Allison, “We’ve stayed, we’ve had a  _semi reasonable_ time, although next year, if Scott hires a clown, I won’t’ even come in the door, I mean it.”

“I’ll make him come,” Stiles promises, standing and plastering himself up behind Derek, “But, right now, we’re leaving, yes?”

Derek nods vehemently, “We are, and we’re not available for the rest of the night.”

“Or tomorrow,” Stiles points at Allison, “Derek will not be making brunch! He will not be making lunch, or dinner, or even supper! He will be making sweet love to—”

“See you on Monday,” Derek interrupts, grabbing Stiles’ hand and hauling him towards the door. “Stop hitting on her,” he tells the clown as they exit, “And, get a real job.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Stiles says quickly, “Follow your dreams! I’m following mine, see?” He points at Derek as they’re leaving, “See what I did there? Scotty! See you Monday!”

“Dude! I thought we were playing COD tomorrow night?”

“Nope!” Derek shuts the door on the damn clown and the misshapen cake and his annoying, _awesome_ friends and kicks open their own apartment door. “I’m putting my foot down,” he tells Stiles.

“I love it,” Stiles yanks off his sweater, locks the door just as Derek presses him up against it, “Let’s make _this_ a tradition.”

“Leaving Leila’s birthday parties early to have sex?” Derek scrunches up his nose, “Seems a little unfair.”

“I meant let’s leave _all_ parties early,” Stiles tugs at Derek’s shirt, and Derek lifts his arms obligingly to help. “All the dumb lectures and fashions shows and those _stupid_ foreign film showings Boyd loves. We leave them all, early, for us time.”

“Deal,” Derek grins.

“Besides,” Stiles maneuvers Derek onto the couch, straddles him with familiar ease, “In a couple of years we can always use the babysitter excuse.”

“What, that we’re babysitting?”

“Nope, we have to go home and let the babysitter go.”

“We’re already terrible parents.”

Stiles beams, “The kids’ll understand when they’re older.”

*

Leila does watch the tape, with Scott complaining in the background that his brother and his best friend are too busy making googly eyes at one another to say anything heartfelt. Stiles shrugs from where he’s sitting next to Derek on the couch, digs into his piece of birthday cake as their own kids groan in embarrassment when the Stiles and Derek on screen smile at one another; the message is pretty clear; they’re awesome friends, they _have_ awesome friends, they love Leila, and they’re gross and in love, shit happens, they’re just _treasuring the moment_.


End file.
